


Accidents Happen

by yin_again



Series: Accidentverse [1]
Category: Sherman's March, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crossover, Failed Flanigan Projects, M/M, Sherman's March - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:59:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yin_again/pseuds/yin_again
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After completing his exile in Siberia, Rodney McKay takes a teaching gig at Duke University in Durham, North Carolina. Pete Sherman, a hotshot advertising exec from New York (from"Sherman's March" - a failed Joe Flanigan pilot) gets exiled to Durham, North Carolina. They meet, they snark, they flirt. Then there's porn. Yay!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Obscure crossover between SGA and a Failed Flanigan Pilot called "Sherman's March" - seriously, it had 1 ep.

**Title:** Accidents Happen  
 **Author:** Yin  
 **Fandom:** Stargate: Atlantis/Sherman's March Crossover  
 **Pairing:** Rodney McKay/Pete Sherman  
 **Rating:** NC17  
 **Warning:** Obscure crossover, boy-touching, porn for its own sake  
 **Notes:** This was meant to be short. It's not. There will likely be 3 or 4 parts, but I'm still writing the ending. Many thanks to for the read-through. Thanks in advance to anyone who reads it - I totally get that _Sherman's March_ has a fanbase of approximately 12.

If you'd like to watch _Sherman's March_ (yet another of Joe Flanigan's failed pilots), it can be accessed [here.](http://up-file.com/download/f8ef4d864844/sm.zip.html) (UpFile link)

**Cast of Characters:**

_Dr. Rodney McKay_ – genius astrophysicist fresh off of two years in Siberia; visiting professor at Duke University; destroyer of young minds  
 _Pete Sherman_ – New York advertising executive for CBB; banished to Durham, NC for a year to open a new office; motto: “Nobody resists, nobody gets hurt.”  
 _Rick O’Malley_ – Pete’s best friend and coworker; gay yenta  
 _Nina_ – bitchy boss; very scary  
 _Caitlin_ – bitchy co-worker  
 _Laney_ – Pete’s New York-based former girlfriend  
 _Becca Coltrane Shipley_ – Advertising executive at Shipley-Rader, CBB’s main competition; Pete’s ex – she dumped him to marry Taylor Shipley

**Accidents Happen**

“Come on, Pete. Let’s go to a bar.” Rick slapped him on the back hard enough to shake fillings.

“No. There are too many people I hate that go to that bar. I can get drunk here.” To punctuate the statement, Pete took a slug of bourbon from the bottle in his hand and resettled his feet on the edge of his desk.

“I think your problem is the opposite of hate, my friend.” Rick liberated the bottle and took a sip.

“Getting dumped by two different women inside of two weeks is the opposite of hate? Sounds like a synonym to me.” More booze down the hatch.

“You barely even dated Becca,” Rick said reasonably. “And she was engaged the whole time to that guy with the stick up his ass and the stupid hair, and you were with Laney.” He took the bottle again, but this time he capped it and dropped into the bottom drawer of the desk. “It’s not your fault that Laney found out about the whole thing.”

“I _told_ her,” Pete said, covering his eyes with one hand.

“Oh. Then that’s totally your fault. Get your jacket – we’re going out.”  
__

“I can’t believe we’re in a bar called _Flex_. I hate you so much right now.” Pete raised his hand and the buff, tee-shirted bartender brought him another bourbon and a toothy smile.

“Shut up,” Rick said, his eyes zeroing in on a slender blond guy in the corner, his third foray of the night into that same part of the bar. “I’ll be right back. Try not to get cruised.”

Pete went back to staring into his glass morosely, glad that he was at the end of the bar, using the convenient wall to buffer at least some of the driving techno music coming from the other side of the room. The couple next to him had moved from ostentations tongue-kissing to something that threatened to become indecent exposure, so he was glad when they slipped off their stools and headed for… elsewhere.

The guy who slid onto the empty barstool next to Pete snapped his fingers impatiently at the bartender. “Molson,” he said. “Mol-son. One more crappy American beer and I’m going to commit hick-icide.”

Pete snickered when the bottle of Molson came sliding down the bar, like the bartender was afraid to get too close. The guy opened the bottle, flicking the cap toward the bartender with terrible aim, then turned to look at Pete.

“Something funny?” he asked.

“Well,” Pete said, looking up with a grin. “Hick-icide was pretty funny, but the way you scared the shit out of the bartender was good, too.”

Blue eyes turned to rake Pete from head to toe. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“New York City,” Pete said. “I’m in exile. You?”

“Toronto, by way of Siberia. I’m in exile, too. Who’d you piss off?”

“Major bitch of a boss. Who’d _you_ piss off?”

“An Air Force General.” He placed his drink on the bar and held out a hand. “Dr. Rodney McKay.”

Pete shook it. “Pete Sherman. What kind of doctor are you?”

“Several kinds, actually,” Rodney said. “Astrophysics, math and non-linear and complex systems.”

“I know what math is,” Pete said, feeling a little browbeaten by the flood of advanced degrees. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess that you teach.”

“Duke,” Rodney spit out, like it wasn’t one of the most prestigious universities in the nation. “Physics department, crushing the souls of PhD candidates.”

“Sounds like fun,” Pete said, draining his glass and raising his hand at the bartender again.

“It has its moments.” Rodney took another sip of his beer. “It also beats the shit out of Siberia.”

“You were really in Siberia? I thought that was a metaphor.”

Rodney gave him a pitying look. “No, I was really in Siberia for two years.”

“You must have really pissed off that General,” Pete said, sipping his new drink. 

“Yeah, I did. What do you do?”

“Advertising executive,” Pete said, carefully propping one elbow on the bar. “I’m fucking good at it, too. Mostly.”

“That’s good,” Rodney said absently. “Hey, how drunk are you?”

Pete looked at his glass, trying to remember if it was his fourth or fifth, plus the quarter-bottle back at the office. He thought about it some more, then looked at Rodney. “A lot. Very. Tremendously.”

“That’s what I thought.” Rodney reached out and snagged the lapel of Pete’s jacket and slipped something into his inside pocket. “You came with that big guy, right?”

Pete nodded. “Rick. He’s in exile, too. But I don’t think he pissed anybody off, he’s too nice. I’m not very nice.”

Rodney slowly let go of Pete’s jacket, making sure he wasn’t going to slide right off the barstool. “I’m not particularly nice, either,” he said. “But I do okay.” Turning toward the rest of the room, he let out a piercing whistle, then shouted, “Rick!”

“Ow,” Pete said, holding his head. Rodney patted him on the shoulder in apology.

“You need to take your friend home, he’s moving past drunk and into ‘bulletproof,’” Rodney said.

Pete looked up. “I don’t think Rick is drunk at all.” He turned his whole body, and would have pitched onto the floor, except that Rodney caught one arm and Rick caught the other. “Hi, Rick!” Pete said. “I think we should go.”

“Brilliant deduction.” Rodney turned to Rick. “I’m Rodney McKay and I was absolutely not cruising your boyfriend. Please don’t kill me.”

“Rick O’Malley,” Rick said. “And he’s not my boyfriend and I never, ever kill people. It’s rude.”

“Oh, good.” Rodney finished his beer and snapped his fingers for another while Rick got Pete onto his feet, wrapping one big arm around his waist. 

“Bye, Rodney,” Pete slurred.

“Bye, Pete,” Rodney said.

Pete grinned, then turned to look up at Rick. “Let’s go home,” he said brightly. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”  
__

Saturday morning dawned, and Pete managed to crawl out of bed on the third try. One inadvertent sniff of the crumpled suit in the corner, and he was sprinting to the bathroom to throw up, something he was pretty sure he’d done a few times the night before, judging by the ruined suit.

He squeezed toothpaste thickly onto his toothbrush and stuck it in his mouth before turning on the shower as hot as he could stand. He scrubbed his teeth while the hot water rained on his head, lifting his face into the spray to wash away the cascading foam. Then he noticed that he was still wearing his blue-striped boxers. He slipped them off, wadded them up, and pitched them over the shower rod, half-heartedly aiming at the sink. 

Half an hour later the hot water ran out, so he stepped carefully onto the mat. Drying off, he noticed that the boxers had landed in the toilet. He shook his head, then immediately stopped when the headache hit. A brief look in the mirror showed him red eyes and a decidedly green complexion. He scrubbed listlessly at his hair, then stumbled back to the bed. A glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol were placed prominently on his nightstand, so he swallowed four pills and buried his head under the pillow for the rest of the day.

At 6:00 pm, Rick let himself into the apartment.

“If you’re a burglar, fuck off,” Pete called from the bedroom.

“Just me,” Rick answered quietly. “I stole your keys last night. You’re welcome.”

“I’m not thanking you,” Pete said, wandering into the living room in a clean pair of boxers. “This whole thing was your fault.”

“Your hair looks like an electrocuted hedgehog,” Rick said. “Kill it and get dressed and let’s go. You need greasy food.”

Pete knew when he was licked, and greasy food sounded pretty good. When he came back out, dressed and with wet hair, Rick looked him over. “You’ll do,” he said.

Pete flipped him off and held out a hand for his keys. What he got was his keys and a white business card bearing the Duke University seal. He looked at it dumbly.

“That was in your jacket pocket,” Rick said. “I think you owe that guy flowers for not molesting you.”

“Rodney I. McKay, PhD, PhD, PhD; Visiting Professor, Department of Physics. Who puts all three of their doctorates on their business card?” Pete looked up to see Rick smiling at him.

“Same kind of guy who doesn’t molest drunken straight people in a gay bar, I guess.”

Pete shoved the card into his jeans pocket. He tossed his keys up into the air and completely failed to catch them. 

Rick leaned over and snatched the keys off the floor before Pete could. “Really,” he said, laughing. “I’ll drive.”

Business at the diner was fairly slow, and it was quiet. Pete was thankful. He was also thankful for the sweet iced tea he was starting to crave against his will and the thick, juicy cheeseburger the motherly waitress brought him.

Rick watched as he inhaled half the burger, eating his meatloaf in a much more civilized manner. “So,” he said. “You gonna call Dr. McKay?”

Pete chewed and swallowed, then drank half his tea at one go. “I was thinking maybe a thank you card?”

“Pussy,” Rick said.

Pete choked on his French fry. Once he finished coughing, he fixed Rick with a steely glare. “Why would I call him? I’m straight and he’s obviously not and it wouldn’t be fair to lead him on.”

“I dunno, Pete. Why _would_ you want to call somebody who took care of you when you were drunk? Somebody who didn’t even know you and was still a gentleman about the whole thing.”

Pete let his head drop to the table with a dull thud, careful to keep his hair out of his plate. “You are the biggest, gayest Jiminy Cricket _ever_.”

“So, you’re gonna call him?”

“I guess so.” Pete kept his head down.

Rick stole a fry. “And, by the way, Jiminy Cricket was totally gay.”  
__

The Monday morning production meeting went on about twenty-five minutes longer than Pete’s patience held out, and he almost rose to Caitlin’s bait _twice_. Unacceptable. Pete practically ran back to his office and shut the door in that quiet way that made the receptionist wince and hold his calls for at least half an hour.

Three minutes of staring out the window (carefully _not_ in the direction of Shipley-Rader) and three minutes of banging his head on his desk didn’t help, so he picked up the phone and pulled the business card out of his inside pocket.

After the third ring, the phone was picked up and “What?” was snarled in his ear.

“Dr. McKay?” Pete wasn’t sure exactly what he’d gotten himself into.

“Yes. What?”

Pete swallowed. “This is Pete Sherman.”

“Hold on,” Rodney said in a slightly less abrasive tone, and Pete could hear the sound of someone being summarily tossed out of an office. He knew the sound; he’d done it often enough himself.

“How’s your head?” Rodney said.

“Better than it was Saturday morning… er, afternoon,” Pete admitted. “I just wanted to call and say thanks.”

“For not letting you fall off the bar stool or for not cruising you?”

“Little of both?” Pete wasn’t quite sure where this was going, and he didn’t like it.

Rodney barked out a short laugh. “You’re welcome, and don’t let it get around that I was nice – my students would stop being terrified of me.”

“How terrified are they?”

“Well,” Rodney sounded amused. “I’m not supposed to know, but they call me ‘The Killer’ behind my back.”

Pete burst out laughing.

“You barely know me,” Rodney said, sounding aggrieved. “You can’t be that amused.”

“No,” Pete spluttered, trying to regain his composure. “That’s _my_ nickname.”

“You, me and Jerry Lee Lewis,” Rodney said. “I’m keeping it – you’ll have to get another one.”

“Well, my ex used to call me ‘General’ – you know, Sherman, Yankee coming South…”

“Oh, I get it,” Rodney snapped. “That is so incredibly lame.”

Pete grinned, even though Rodney couldn’t see him. “You know what?” he said. “It really is.”

“So, that ex…” Rodney said, sounding less sure of himself.

“She married someone else,” Pete supplied.

“Oh. That sucks.” There was a long pause. “I’m guessing that all of your exes fall into the category of ‘she’?”

Pete wasn’t exactly sure what possessed him, but he knew that it came with a hot blush when he answered, “So far.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah, well…” Pete said uncomfortably.

“Lunch,” Rodney said, and Pete could hear him snap his fingers.

“What?”

“You need to take me to lunch to thank me. It should be an expensive one, because I paid your bar tab Friday night.”

“Oh, crap – I didn’t realize…”

“Don’t worry,” Rodney said. “I’ll let you make it up to me. My office, noon on Thursday.” And Rodney was gone, leaving Pete with a warm face, his mouth hanging open and the dial tone in his ear.  
__

“Gotta go,” Pete said, avoiding Nina’s eyes – if you looked her in the eyes, there was at least a 75% chance of being turned to stone. 90% according to Rick. “Lunch thing.”

“Pete,” she said sweetly. Uh oh. He turned at the door. “Close something before 5:00 tomorrow or I will wear your balls for earrings to the goddamn Guggenheim fundraiser next week. Have a nice lunch.”

“Yes, boss,” Pete said, shuddering as he left. Luckily, he had the Coleman deal in the bag, and would pick up the signed contracts after lunch. His balls were safe. For the moment, anyway.

The drive to the Duke campus was relaxing – lots of trees and rolling hills. The campus itself was huge and confusing, and Pete finally had to stop and ask someone where the Physics building was. The student looked at him with fear in his eyes and pointed without speaking. Pete decided that the kid must have been one of Rodney’s students, based on the level of emotional trauma.

Rodney’s door was open, and Rodney had his head down over a huge bound document, slashing out whole sections with a red pen, snorting derisively. The position didn’t do anything to hide the beginnings of male pattern baldness, and Pete reflexively touched his own hair.

“This university has a Lemur Center?” Pete leaned in the doorway, fighting the urge to cross his arms defensively over his chest.

Rodney looked up and grinned, and Pete noticed how very blue his eyes were. “Hell if I know,” he said. Pushing the thesis he was murdering away, he got up and crossed the floor to Pete, holding out his hand. “Rodney McKay,” he said, laughing a little. “Drunk handler.”

Pete ducked his head, but shook the proffered hand anyway. “Pete Sherman, sweaty drunk,” he said, inwardly wincing when he realized that was a line he’d picked up from Becca.

“Katy!” Rodney yelled, letting go of Pete’s hand. “Tell me you made my reservation at the Fairview.”

The elderly secretary looked up with a scowl. “Yes, Dr. McKay,” she said through pursed lips. “12:15, no citrus on anything. Ever.”

Rodney beamed at her. “You are one of the five least stupid people on this campus.” He headed for the door, then turned back to Pete, snapping his fingers. “Lunch. Let’s go.”

Pete smiled at the secretary, who rolled her eyes, then followed Rodney out the door.  
__

The Fairview was on the university golf course, and the host knew Rodney, too, judging by the discreet eyeroll. “Right this way,” he said, leading them to a table for two with a view of the pristine fairway. “Your waiter will be with you in a moment and no lemon in your water, right?” He bared his teeth at Rodney in what could be loosely termed a smile.

“What’s the lemon thing?” Pete busied himself with lining up the variety of forks next to his plate.

“Hideous allergy,” Rodney said. “All citrus.”

“So, what? You break out?”

“No,” Rodney said in the tone one usually reserved for stupid people. “I die.”

Pete looked up and frowned. “Bummer.”

Rodney glared at him. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

Pete grinned. “I can kill you with lemon chicken.”

“Very funny.”


	2. Part Two

Back in the car and headed for Coleman Enterprises, Pete contemplated lunch. Rodney was, by far, the most interesting person he’d met in his 10 months in Durham. Between the shrimp appetizer, the pasta and the huge slices of chocolate cake, Pete had barely had to say ten words. Rodney was a whirlwind, eating almost as quickly as he talked – a barrage of words on subjects as diverse as Siberia, quantum mechanics, university politics, his deep distrust of the American government, the sad state of hockey and the utter, colossal, enormous stupidity of his students. Pete found that nodding, smiling and simply eating his lunch was all that was required of him, but he resolved to argue the superiority of baseball over hockey next time.

Hold up. Next time?

Pete felt his brow knotting up into a frown, and he carefully gauged his reaction to lunch with Rodney. Interesting, amusing, laid-back, comfortable. Weird. Pete wasn’t comfortable with people as a rule. Okay, Rick, and Laney and Becca, for a while, but everyone else got The Killer – the smile and the smirk and the casual lean and the surface-only depth he chose to project. Pete Sherman did not relax. Pete Sherman didn’t chat, unless he was guiding the conversation for his own purposes – to gather information or to ferret out weaknesses. In short, Pete Sherman did not _hang out_.

But he had. He’d let it all go during his lunch with Rodney, nodding and smiling, requiring nothing – no information, no intel, just company and good food.

Lonely. That had to be it. Pete wanted to snap his fingers as the “ah-ha” moment hit. He was lonely, Rodney was lonely. Two lonely guys hanging out, having lunch, maybe tentatively becoming friends.

Except for one thing. Rodney thought he was _pretty_.  
__

Pete smiled at Caitlin as he breezed through the office. Like a dog on a trail, she followed him, stopping at the door to Nina’s office as Pete strutted in and slapped the Coleman contract onto her desk.

Without looking up, she snapped, “Caitlin, get out of my doorway.” Pete cocked his head as Caitlin’s heels clickety-clacked away on the polished floor.

Nina flipped the contract over and swiftly glanced it over. “Not bad,” she said, finally looking up.

“Good enough to get me back to New York?”

Nina smirked. “But you’re doing so well here, Pete. The executive committee is pleased with your performance. You’ve become quite the rainmaker down here in hick land.”

Pete leaned forward, planting both hands on her desk. “Nina,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “I want out of this one-horse town. I have busted my ass for you. I have brokered more deals and brought more money into this firm than the rest of the office combined. I have sold you my fucking _soul_ , all on the agreement that I get to go back to Manhattan at the end of one year. I’ve served my time and I want my goddamn parole.”

Nina smiled sweetly at him and poked his hand with her pen until he straightened up. “Ten months, Sherman. Ten months does not equal a year, not even with your rudimentary math skills. Come see me in 60 days.” 

She looked back down at the contract, and Pete knew he was dismissed. He straightened his tie and plastered a smirk onto his face before turning sharply and leaving her office.

He stalked to Rick’s office and slumped down into the visitor’s chair, turning his head from side to side to ease the sudden tightness in his neck.

Rick put down the comps he was reviewing and folded his hands on his desk. “So,” he said, casually and without smiling. “How was your date?”

“Oh, don’t you start,” Pete said, scowling. He changed his slump into a casual slouch, cognizant of the glass wall between him and the rest of the office. “I want to go home.”

“We all do, brother,” Rick said. “This town’s got crappy sushi and no hot guys. Though your doctor doctor doctor wasn’t so bad, if you like ‘em snarky.”

“He is not my doctor,” Pete stage-whispered, leaning forward. “I’m straight.”

“So you keep saying.” 

“Fuck you,” Pete said.

“No thanks,” Rick said. “I don’t sleep with virgins.”

“I hate you very much.”

“Beers after work?”

“Yeah.” Pete straightened up and squared his shoulders, then swept off to his office, where he brooded for the rest of the afternoon until Rick appeared in his doorway.

After his second beer, Pete switched to water, ignoring Rick’s raised eyebrows and superior little smile in favor of watching the baseball game on one of the sports bar’s dozen or so televisions. He was happily involved in a potential no-hitter when he heard a familiar voice.

“Anything Canadian – American beer is crap.”

“Rodney?” Pete turned from the game to see familiar blue eyes looking at him from the other end of the bar.

“Hey, Pete, Rick.” Rodney said, taking his beer from the bartender and examining the label before paying for it. “Rough day at the office?”

Rick muffled a cough into his hand, then grinned at Rodney. “Hey, man. Why don’t you join us?” He didn’t even wince when Pete kicked him sharply in the shin.

Rodney waved his change away and moved down to sit on the bar stool next to Pete. “So, office?” he prompted.

It took Pete a second to figure out that he was referring to his earlier question. “Oh, yeah. No, it was a pretty good day – I landed a big account.”

“Yes, your excitement is shining through,” Rodney deadpanned.

“He’s just pissy because he went head-to-head with the boss and got handed his.” Of course Rick would pick that moment to join the conversation.

Pete glared at him.

“Do something brilliant; get your ass kicked for it. Sounds like my last job.” Rodney turned his beer up, taking a long sip.

The bottom of Rick’s empty beer bottle hit the bar with a thud, followed by a twenty. “It’s been fun, guys,” he said. “But I’ve got a date.”

Pete stared at him, his mouth falling open. “But… you said there were no hot guys in this town.”

Rick winked at him. “He’s from Raleigh.” On that note, he exited, laughing.

Rodney gestured at the television. “So, what’s going on?”

Pete spent the next hour explaining baseball, with Rodney nodding along and asking intelligent question, stopping once in a while to make comparisons to hockey. It only seemed natural to move from the bar to a booth and continue talking over burgers and fries. After a while, Pete realized that he was dominating the conversation and that Rodney was letting him.

“Hey,” he said, leaning forward. “You’re awfully quiet. What’s up?”

“Oh, work stuff.” Rodney made a hand gesture that was halfway calling a ball foul and halfway a Q in American Sign Language.

“Didn’t get to crush any young minds after lunch?”

Rodney looked up, his mouth turned down on one side and his eyebrows drawing together. “No. I mean yes – two, but this was about a new job.”

“And…” Pete prompted, running his finger through the condensation on his glass.

“I was just a feeler, really. They’re trying to figure out if I’m interested without telling me anything.”

“Government, then.” Pete smiled when Rodney’s eyes widened. He raised his glass. Right before the rim met his mouth, he smirked. “Not just a pretty face.”

The waitress came to bring the check and clear their dishes, and they each paid for their meals before looking at one another awkwardly.

“I better go,” Rodney said. “You know, young minds to crush.”

“Me, too. Mangled ego to tend to.”

They walked out to their cars, which were parked fairly close to one another in the lot. The sun had set and the evening was cool. Rodney walked Pete over to his car without speaking. 

Pete turned to face him. “I’ll… see you around, I guess.”

He drew in a surprised breath when Rodney’s hand came up to trail the backs of his fingers against his jaw. He leaned minutely into the touch.

“I really want to kiss you,” Rodney said quietly, a low huskiness in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“I’m…” Pete started, but he stopped talking when Rodney’s fingers brushed across his lips.

“I know,” he said. “But I just wanted to tell you. See you, Pete.”

Pete slid into his car and watched as Rodney walked away. He touched his fingers to his lips before he started the car.  
__

Friday at the office, Pete refused to talk to Rick, even going so far as to throw away the latte perched on the corner of his desk as a peace offering. He instantly regretted it, but that wasn’t the point.

“Aw, come on, Pete,” Rick wheedled from the doorway around noon. “You know you love me.”

“I hate you,” Pete said. “I hate you with the fire of a thousand suns.”

“See, you love me.”

Pete refused to look up, but he could _hear_ Rick’s smug smile.

“Shut up.” Pete finally looked up, and Rick was almost glowing with humor and self-satisfaction. “You have to buy me lunch. And a good one, not the crappy diner. And I still hate you.”

Rick ushered him out, the smug smile still on his face.  
__

Rick held it in until they were seated in the small bistro down the street from the office. “Oh, my god, Pete – you should have seen your face. Priceless.” Rick laughed until he was in tears.

Pete glared and ordered the most expensive thing on the menu. Rick trumped him by ordering the same thing with extra side dishes, and waited until the waiter was out of earshot.

“I’m guessing I’m the only one who got laid last night?” 

Pete shot him a filthy look, then took a sip of his water and raised an eyebrow. “Well, we did stay for dinner.” He was gratified when Rick choked on his own drink.

One he regained his composure, Rick turned wide eyes on Pete. “Well?”

“Well, what? We had dinner and talked about baseball and then we left.”

“No goodnight kiss?”

Pete knew that Rick was yanking his chain, but he couldn’t help the blush he felt heating his cheeks, so he ducked his head to hide it. When he looked up, Rick was staring at him open-mouthed. Pete could feel one corner of his mouth curling up into a smile.

“Really?” Rick’s voice was hushed, but he sounded incredulous.

“No,” Pete said, playing with the napkin in his lap. “He just, um – said that he wanted to.”

Rick narrowed his eyes. “What did you say?”

“What do you think I said, moron? I said I’m straight.”

“Well, at least you didn’t say you were flattered. That’s the worst.” Rick nodded and sipped his drink. “Oh, _tell_ me you didn’t give him the ‘let’s just be friends’ speech.”

Pete shook his head, rolling his eyes at the same time. “I like him – he’s funny. And I _do_ want to be his friend.”

“But you don’t want to get all sweaty with him?”

“I… well, of course not.” Pete looked down again.

“That hesitation isn’t convincing me, Pete. You should give it a try, come on over to the dark side – especially if he’s willing to be your training wheels.”

“Training wheels?” Pete hissed. “ _Training wheels?_ That’s not… I don’t…” He fought for his composure. “God, I hate you.”

“We can talk about something else if you like,” Rick said sweetly.

Pete nodded emphatically and they talked about the office for the rest of lunch.  
__

Pete spent Saturday at the office and picked up a pizza on his way home. He ate two slices, and fell asleep on the couch in front of ESPN. He woke up at 3:00 am, thought, “I miss New York,” and stumbled off to bed.

Rick came over on Sunday and watched three baseball games and ate most of the cold pizza. As he left, he said, “I miss New York.”

Pete cleaned up the pizza scraps and the beer bottles, then decided a shower might be a good thing. The hot water felt good, and it loosened some of the muscles in his back that weren’t happy about sleeping on the couch. His cock, however, was happy about _something_

“You shut up,” Pete told it, but it ignored him just like always. He soaped his hand and reached down, moaning a little at the slow slide of his palm. He’d intended to make it quick. Just a perfunctory jerk-off that would leave him sated and mellow enough to go to bed, but it felt too good. He hadn’t had a hand on his cock that wasn’t attached to his arm in months, not since the single night he’d had with Becca before she decided it was war, not love and had gone scurrying back to Taylor.

He banished that memory, not wanting to be maudlin if he could help it, and certainly not while jerking off. Instead, he conjured up a picture of Laney, a scene from before everything went to shit. Pete and Laney had been an explosive combination not too terribly long ago, and he thought about her long, gym-toned legs around his waist, her red lips around his cock. She’d turned him upside down and back to front when they first started dating. He thought he knew a lot about sex, but she fucked him into the floor.

Laney was up for anything – office blowjobs, shower sex, handjobs in the car on the way to weekend trips to the Vineyard, up against the bathroom door at his parents’ house, and one memorable time in a stuck elevator. His hand sped up as he fixed the picture firmly in his mind, Laney right there in the shower with him, the way she’d look up while she was sucking him, her eyes showing the smirk because her lips were busy. She usually kept one hand on his thigh, sharp nails digging in, and one hand on his balls, touching him so softly, in direct counterpoint to her ferocious sucking. He knew she liked giving him blowjobs in the shower because she could let the water run over her, obscuring the fact that she didn’t swallow. Pete knew, but by the time he was coming in her mouth, he usually didn’t care.

He closed his eyes, bracing himself on the wall with his free hand, feeling the hot water cascade down his back. He was getting close, feeling the orgasm building at the base of his spine, feeling the hair on his arms stand up and his balls tighten. He imagined looking down, watching big blue eyes glance up under water-dark lashes, and he came hard, neck bowed and knees shaking. He was cleaned off and out on the mat, toweling his hair when he realized that Laney’s eyes were _brown_.  
__

“We have to go get coffee _now_.” Pete barely let Rick put down his messenger bag before he had him by one elbow, dragging him down the stairs and out the front door.

“Diner or Starbucks?” Rick seemed amused by the dragging.

“Starbucks.” They had practically thrown a party when the Starbucks had moved in several months back. Pete finally let go of Rick’s elbow when they got inside. He ordered the biggest, blackest coffee available, then watched impatiently while Rick screwed around with his latte before pointing to a table in the back of the room.

“Okay,” Rick said, blowing on his drink to cool it. “What is your damage?”

Pete leaned all the way forward, getting into Rick’s personal space. “Something really weird happened last night.”

Rick waited. A flush started creeping up Pete’s neck and onto his face. Rick continued to wait. “Are you gonna tell me?” he finally asked.

Pete drank some of his coffee, then set the cup down. “You have to promise not to laugh.” Rick nodded. “Okay,” Pete said. “Last night I was…” He made a quick yet unmistakable gesture with his right hand. 

Rick snorted into his latte. “It’s okay, brother. We all do that.”

“Shut up,” Pete hissed. “At the… at the end, I kind of… thought about…” He trailed off, completely unable to say the words.

“Who?” Rick said, leaning forward in interest. “Laney? Becca? Nina? Me?”

“Oh, my god. Did you just say ‘Nina’? I’m never jerking off again. And no, no, no and no.”

Rick sat back, a grin spreading over his face. “It was your doctor, wasn’t it?”

Pete put his arms down on the table and laid his head on them. “Sort of.” His voice was muffled. “It was Laney up until the end and then there were blue eyes.”

“Laney’s eyes are brown,” Rick said.

Pete raised his head just enough to look across the table miserably. “I _know_.”

Rick reached over and patted him on the head before fixing his attention on his latte, trying, and failing, to suppress his grin.

Pete buried his head in his arms.  
__

For the rest of the week Rick drove Pete insane. He made jerk-off gestures every time he passed Pete’s door. He left a well-thumbed copy of _The Joy of Gay Sex_ in his briefcase. He emailed MP3’s of “Doctor, Doctor” and “Doctor My Eyes” and even “Witch Doctor.” Pete considered Alvin and the Chipmunks to be an all-time low.

For his part, Pete was terrified to jerk off, and that didn’t improve his mood much. Caitlin undercut him on a deal and he didn’t even have the energy to rip her a new one. He hid in his office, avoided Rick as best he could and indulged in the time honored traditions of bouncing a baseball off the wall and brooding.

By Friday afternoon, he was frustrated and miserable. At least Rick was spending the weekend with his conquest in Raleigh, so he didn’t have to worry about a male stripper dressed like a doctor coming to his apartment. Well, he didn’t have to worry _a lot_. On the other hand, he was stuck with nothing to do but brood about his obviously out-of-control subconscious. He went home and changed into sweats and settled down in front of ESPN with a beer. His phone rang and he considered ignoring it, but picked it up instead.

“Hello?”

There was a long pause, and then Rodney’s voice. “Pete?”

“Hey, Rodney.” He tried to sound as casual as possible. “What’s up?”

“Uh, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to talk to me,” Rodney said.

“It’s okay.” Pete could feel his face heating up and inwardly cursed his new-found propensity for blushing. “I was advised not to give you the ‘let’s just be friends’ speech.”

“Rick?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Rodney laughed. “I take back every derogatory thought I ever had about Rick’s IQ.”

“Did you have a lot of them?”

“A few,” Rodney admitted. He paused, and the moment drew out uncomfortably. “Look,” he finally said. “I actually would like for us to be friends… I don’t have a whole lot of those, and I really do like hanging out with you.”

“Me, too,” Pete said, “I mean hanging out with you like friends and stuff.” He smacked his hand against his forehead for sounding like an idiot. A teenage girl idiot.

“Good, good,” Rodney said. “What are you doing?”

“Right now?” Pete unconsciously straightened up on the sofa.

“No, Tuesday at noon. Of course right now.”

“Watching SportsCenter and drinking a beer. What are you doing?”

“Destroying young minds and egos, like usual. You want some company? I promise not to hit on you.” Rodney sounded both unsure and eager.

Pete agreed and gave him directions, and when they hung up, he wasn’t entirely sure if Rodney not hitting on him was a good thing or a bad thing.

As it turned out, Rodney was fun to watch baseball with. He was also fun to watch hockey with, flailing his arms and yelling at the screen and explaining the rules in such rapid-fire bursts of speech that Pete was only able to follow about half of it. He sprawled on Pete’s couch, drank three beers, bogarted the bag of chips and left around midnight without ever once looking sidelong at Pete or giving any indication that they were anything but two buddies watching the game. As he went to bed, Pete chalked his slight disappointment up to the fact that the Yankees lost the game.


	3. Part Three

Monday 26 September 9:40 am  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
Subject: Killer Morons From Outer Space

The idiots are attacking. Stupidity is everywhere. Lunch?

~R.

 

Monday 26 September 9:45 am  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: Killer Morons From Outer Space

Try dumbass repellant. They probably sell it in the campus bookstore on the “teaching aides” shelf.

Lunch meeting. Dinner?

~Killer

 

Monday 26 September 9:57 am  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
RE: RE: Killer Morons From Outer Space

Dinner sounds good. Stop using my nickname.

~R.

 

Monday 26 September 10:03 am  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: RE: RE: Killer Morons From Outer Space

Harrison’s? 7:00?

~The artist formerly known as Killer

 

Monday 26 September 10:12 am  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
RE: RE: RE: RE: Killer Morons From Outer Space

I might be late; I need to also pick up some smartass repellant.

~R. (The Original Killer)

 

Monday 26 September 10:18 am  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Killer Morons From Outer Space

Jerry Lee Lewis called – he wants his nickname back. Go destroy some innocent scholars. I’ll see you tonight.

~Not!Jerry Lee  
__

Several times during the day, Pete realized his knee was bouncing. Rick noticed twice, but thankfully didn’t remark on it any further than a raised eyebrow and a small grin.

He managed to get through the lunch meeting completely on charm, and he closed the deal, giving him one more piece of paper to slap onto Nina’s desk, one more yellow brick in the road back to Manhattan. He didn’t stop to analyze why his joy over that fact felt a little tempered with a tiny ping of regret. Must have been the iced tea thing.

He spent the afternoon briefing the design staff on the needs of the new client and left the office at 5:00 on the dot to the incredulous stares of Nina, Caitlin, and the receptionist and a wide smirk from Rick. At home, he showered and shaved, then spent ten minutes standing naked in front of his closet. He decided on his usual casual uniform – white tee shirt, sweater and khakis. He slapped some gel in his hair, patently refused to wear cologne, and then went off to find clean socks and his hiking boots. It occurred to him as he was tying the second boot that he was acting like he was going on a date.

Rick picked up on the first ring.

“Why am I acting like I’m going out on a date?” Pete demanded, his knuckles white where he clutched the phone.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s because you _are_ going out on a date. Who’s the lucky lady? You’ve been bouncing around all day.”

“Okay, first – the Killer doesn’t bounce – ever. Second, I don’t have a date. I’m meeting Rodney for dinner.” Pete could feel himself blushing, and added a caveat to his list – _the Killer doesn’t blush. Except when he does._

“Are you picking him up?” Rick sounded way too amused.

“No.”

“Who’s paying?”

“Dutch,” Pete said, his hold on the phone relaxing fractionally.

“Pete, my man, not only are you going on a date; you’re going on a _first_ date. Welcome to the family.”

Silence.

“Pete? Pete! Are you there? Are you freaking out? Having a sexual identity crisis?” Rick’s voice sounded both amused and worried.

“Yes, yes and I have no idea,” Pete said through suddenly dry lips.

“So go to dinner and call me later if you start to have that last thing, okay? Have fun!” And with that, Rick hung up, leaving Pete alone with the telephone receiver in his hand and a whole lot of confusion in his brain.  
__

“Sorry I’m late,” Rodney said, slipping into the booth. He was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved tee shirt over a long-sleeved tee shirt, and he’d also shaved. Pete wondered if _he_ thought it was a date, too. He waved away the apology.

Rodney settled in and ordered a beer – “Canadian; no American swill” – before looking across the table. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in casual clothes.”

“You saw me in sweats Friday night, Rodney.” Pete ostentatiously drank a sip of his American beer.

“I mean clothes you’d leave the house in. You look nice.”

“Is this a date?” Pete blurted out, and there was the damn blush again.

Rodney looked piercingly at him. “Do you want it to be?”

Pete took a deep breath. “I don’t know. And what is it about you that makes me lose my cool? I’m saying things I don’t mean to say and _blushing_ for god’s sake. I don’t _do_ this stuff.”

“I think it’s because you like me,” Rodney said, a smile lighting up his face. “And it throws you a little.”

“I…” Pete snapped his mouth closed, not knowing what to say.

Rodney gave him an altogether too-kind look. “Look, why don’t we just have dinner and save all the existential drama for later, hmmm?”

The waitress returned with Rodney’s beer and they ordered steaks. Pete fussed with his silverware until Rodney kicked him lightly under the table. “Do you want to go to a hockey game on Friday?”

“They have hockey here?”

“Carolina Hurricanes – they play at the RBC Center. They probably suck, but – hey – hockey.” Rodney looked mildly interested in Pete’s reply, and Pete suspected it was kind of an act.

“Okay,” Pete said. “Do they have hot dogs and beer?”

Rodney laughed. “They even have soft pretzels.”

“You’ll have to explain the game to me some more.” Pete found himself relaxing and smiling at Rodney like he would any other buddy. Or maybe not.

“Hey, Pete.” Oh, hell – it was Becca. She was dragging Taylor a few steps behind her, but he got distracted by someone at another table.

“Becca,” Pete said, slapping on his cool voice and his business face.

They stared at each other for a moment, then Pete felt Rodney kick him under the table again. “Oh. Becca, this is Dr. Rodney McKay; Rodney this is Becca Col… Shipley.”

Rodney stood up to shake her hand, and Pete could see the way he quickly appraised and dismissed her before sitting back down.

“It was nice to meet you,” Rodney said, then reached across the table to tap the back of Pete’s hand. “Hand me a coaster.”

Pete tossed one to him, smiling when Rodney caught it deftly.

“Oh, my god,” Becca whispered sharply. “Pete, did I make you gay?”

Rodney looked up. “No. But I’m working on it. Also, don’t flatter yourself.”

Pete kept his expression schooled and his eyes on Rodney. “Nice to see you, Becca. Give my regards to Taylor.” Neither watched as she stomped away.

“I’m _working_ on it?” Pete said incredulously.

Rodney grinned evilly. “She needed the smackdown. And it’s at least a little bit true.”

Pete was saved from answering by the arrival of their steaks. For the rest of dinner, they talked about unimportant things, both cognizant of Becca’s eyes on them from across the restaurant. After Rodney inhaled his pie, he stared at the piece of cheesecake Pete was toying with. Pete slid it across the table, grabbing one more bite before it was demolished by hurricane Rodney.

“You’ve been flirting with me,” Rodney said, licking his fork. “Is it for Becca’s benefit?”

“Probably a little,” Pete said, looking down at his plate. “It’s kind of fun to freak her out.”

“A little.” Rodney mused over that for a second. “So, not completely?”

Pete looked up, frowning. “I really don’t know,” he said. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression or…”

“Lead me on?” Rodney’s eyes twinkled. “Lead me on all you want. It’s the most action I’ve gotten since a lab technician in Siberia, and let me tell you, those guys wear the big coats for a reason – to stifle crippling B.O.”

“Gross,” Pete said, but he felt a little better. “Rick said you would probably be interested in being my ‘training wheels’.”

Rodney nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Some guys aren’t interested in that sort of thing – being the one to turn a straight guy. Sometimes you get a lot of shit from them when they decide to go back to the whole soccer mom wife and 2.4 kids scenario.”

“And you?” Pete held himself very still.

“I like you, Pete. And I like this.” He waved a hand back and forth between them. “It’s been brought to my attention before – numerous times – that I can be petty, arrogant and bad with people. And it’s not that way with you. I like it.”

Pete grinned across the table. “I don’t think you’re petty.” He laughed when Rodney threw his wadded-up napkin at him.

They split the check, then left the restaurant. Pete looked over his shoulder and waved at Becca when he caught her staring. He considered holding Rodney’s hand on the way out for her benefit, but ultimately decided against it.

Just like last time, Rodney walked Pete to his car. Just like last time, awkwardness descended.

“I should go,” Pete said. “Work tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’ve got classes.” Rodney glanced away.

Pete reached out and caught Rodney’s sleeve with two fingers, snagging the soft cotton where it was bunched at the elbow. “Um,” he said, looking down. “Do you… do you still want to kiss me?” He could feel his heart racing, and his palms broke out in a cold sweat.

Rodney raised a hand to Pete’s chin and tilted his face up to smile gently at him, rubbing the pad of his thumb across Pete’s lower lip. “Of course I do.”

Pete searched Rodney’s face, inexplicably drawn to his wide, crooked mouth and his eyes, which looked dark in the dim light of the parking lot. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

The hand on his chin slipped around to the back of his neck, and Rodney stepped closer, leaning in until his mouth brushed gently against Pete’s. The kiss was chaste and short and almost entirely devastating. By the time Rodney pulled back, Pete’s fingers were gripping his arm and he was breathing heavily.

Rodney let his fingers trace down the side of his throat, then stepped back, his smile even broader than before. “Still working on it,” he said, then turned and walked to his car.  
__

Tuesday 27 September 8:12 am  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
Subject: [none]

Keep the nickname; you’ve earned it.

~Pete

 

Tuesday 27 September 10:02 am  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
RE: [none]

You’re good for my ego, which was healthy enough in the first place. Is everything okay? With us, I mean.

~R.

 

Tuesday 27 September 12:15 pm  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: RE: [none]

I think so.

~Pete

 

Tuesday 27 September 1:56 pm  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Becca Shipley [rshipley@shipley-rader.com]  
Subject: Last Night

What the hell was that?

~Becca

 

Tuesday 27 September 3:43 pm  
To: Becca Shipley [rshipley@shipley-rader.com]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: Last Night

Wouldn’t you like to know?

~The General

 

Tuesday 27 September 4:15 pm  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
FWD: RE: Last Night

I think you made an impression.

~Pete

>> Tuesday 27 September 3:43 pm  
>>To: Becca Shipley [rshipley@shipley-rader.com]  
>>From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
>>RE: Last Night

>>Wouldn’t you like to know?

>>~The General

 

>>>>Tuesday 27 September 1:56 pm  
>>>>To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
>>>>From: Becca Shipley [rshipley@shipley-rader.com]  
>>>>Subject: Last Night

>>>>What the hell was that?

>>>>~Becca

 

Tuesday 27 September 4:51 pm  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
RE: FWD: RE: Last Night

;>

 

__

At 5:05 pm, Rick came in from an entire day away from the office, closed the door and put a venti latte on Pete’s desk, keeping the other one for himself. “What did I miss?”

Pete took a long sip of his coffee. “Nina’s a bitch, Caitlin’s a worm, Jenny got her hair cut and Ted designed some truly horrible ads for the Dawson campaign.”

“Like I give a rat’s ass about that stuff,” Rick snorted. “What happened on your _date_.”

“I had a really good steak.”

“This is in retaliation for the MP3’s, isn’t it?” Rick rolled his eyes.

“Just a lot.” Pete put his feet up on the desk and leaned back. “Ran into Becca. She wanted to know if she turned me gay.”

“Holy shit! What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. But Rodney told her to fuck off, that he was busy trying to turn me gay.”

Rick abandoned his coffee on the desk and leaned forward. “And?”

Pete blushed, gritting his teeth to try and make it stop. Rick grinned at him and he smiled back, looking up from under the hair that always flopped into his eyes by the end of the day. “He, uh, kissed me.”

Rick’s mouth fell open, but he recovered quickly. “Were there fireworks?”

Pete gave him the stink-eye. “No! Okay, maybe a few Roman candles. And some bottle rockets.”

“Nice – the most phallic of the fireworks.” He studied Pete’s face, tilting his head to the side. “I think you do look gayer. Was there tongue?”

“No, Rick, no tongue.” Pete started turning his cup around and around in his hands. “I kinda liked it. What do I do with that?”

“Well,” Rick said. “Do you still like women?”

Pete thought about it, letting a parade of Laney, Heidi Klum, a young Candace Bergen and Sara Jameson from high school parade through his mind. “Yeah.”

“Then you’re bisexual.”

“Really?”

Rick picked up his coffee and moved to the door. “Don’t sweat it. Haven’t you heard? Bi is the new straight.” Laughing, he left the room.  
__

Pete spent Wednesday and Thursday hassling his entire team to re-do the Dawson campaign from the ground up, driving them through two sixteen-hour days in a row, with only brief timeouts to obsessively check his email. On Friday morning, he presented the work to seven grim-faced, starched executives, who unbent enough to accept the campaign and give him a huge deposit check, which he took great joy in slapping down on Nina’s desk and telling her he was taking the afternoon off.

In the car, he called Rodney.

“McKay.”

“It’s Pete. We still on for hockey tonight?”

“Of course,” Rodney said, and Pete could hear the smile in his voice. “You want me to pick you up?”

“I’m off work early,” Pete said. “I can pick you up if it’s easier.”

Rodney agreed and gave Pete directions to his house and they got off the phone. Pete rolled the window down and let the cool breeze ruffle his hair. Everything was going great – big check, afternoon off, and sports on the horizon. And Rodney, even though Pete wasn’t exactly sure what that meant.  
__

Rodney’s house turned out to be an enormous Georgian on a tree-lined street a few miles from the Duke campus. He answered the door after Pete’s first knock.

“Nice place,” Pete said as Rodney ushered him in.

Rodney waved a hand, encompassing the huge foyer with its hardwood floor, crystal chandelier and sweeping staircase. “Thanks, there was sort of a bidding war thing when I came into the private sector. Not that it wasn’t justified and all, but I didn’t expect… that house that was in _Gone With the Wind_ that I can’t remember the name of.”

Pete shrugged. “I don’t know either. Still, nice place.”

“It has rooms I’ve never been in. You want a beer?”

Pete nodded and followed Rodney through a living room, a study and a formal dining room to the kitchen, which was completely updated with enormous stainless steel appliances. Rodney waved him to a bar stool at the marble island counter and turned to the fridge. 

Pete snuck a look at Rodney’s ass, comparing it to other asses he’d ogled before. Laney’s had been muscular – the typical Manhattan Stairmaster/Pilates ass – firm and hard. Becca’s was more softly rounded, and he remembered dancing with her in the blues bar – letting his hand slip down to touch it before he even knew her name. Rodney’s ass looked nice in his jeans; full at the bottom, vaguely heart-shaped.

There were two problems with that line of thought: one, guy’s ass; and two, when Rodney turned toward him with a beer in each hand, it meant that Pete was staring at his crotch. Pete looked away quickly, then back, keeping his eyes firmly above the waist; as he grabbed his beer, Rodney gave him a half-smile and a raised eyebrow.

Pete took the cold bottle and drank, keeping up an internal monologue of _don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush_. “Hey, this is good.”

Rodney drank from his own bottle. “Maverick Supreme Lager,” he said. “It’s a microbrew. The university has to get me two cases a month.”

Pete drank some more. “So, you weren’t joking about the bidding war?”

“Nope. I was quite the hot property. At least, until the interview stage. That whole ‘bad with people’ thing? Not great. And I may have called a few highly-placed physicists morons a few times.”

“No, really?” Pete deadpanned. “You?”

“I can take that beer away,” Rodney warned, leaning an elbow on the counter in front of Pete. “I managed to keep my mouth shut during the Duke interview, except to negotiate a few things – the house, the car, the beer, a truly outrageous salary.”

Pete stared at him levelly. “Are you trying to impress me, Rodney?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

Pete held out his hand and made a little side-to-side motion. Rodney grabbed the hand and pinned it playfully to the counter. Pete sucked in a breath at the feel of Rodney’s fingers at the edge of his wrist, holding it while Rodney’s thumb brushed lightly over his skin before pulling back. He let the breath out and looked up at Rodney, watching the tip of his tongue come out to moisten his lips.

“We should go,” Pete said, draining his beer. Rodney stepped back and finished his, taking Pete’s bottle and his own to the trash. He grabbed a set of keys from a hook by the door and led Pete to the garage.

Pete let out a low whistle as he crossed the threshold. The far bay of the garage held the silver BMW he’d seen Rodney drive before, but the other held a brand-new Mustang, its blue-black paint gleaming in the bright light. “This,” Pete said weakly, gesturing, “is your company car?”

Rodney ran a gentle finger down the roofline of the Mustang. “Nope, that one is,” he pointed at the BMW. “This one is mine. A little present to myself to make up for Siberia. Beside, there’s nowhere to spend money out there, so I figured what the hell. You want to drive her?”

Pete could only nod dumbly when Rodney pressed the keys into his hand.

“Oh, _now_ you’re impressed?” he said, walking around to the passenger side. “I could have cut right to the chase if I’d known you were a gear-head.”

Pete settled himself in the black leather driver’s seat, moving it back to accommodate his slightly greater height. The car had the full retro package with chrome-accented gauges and every other optional extra he’d ever seen on the Ford website. Not that he’d looked, of course. He put on his seatbelt and cranked the car, closing his eyes at the rich, growling sound. Rodney reached over and touched the garage remote.

Pete backed out, then drove sedately through Rodney’s neighborhood, obeying the posted speed limit. As soon as they hit Highway 40 East, he put his foot down hard, grinning at the surge of power and Rodney’s muffled yip of fear. After a few too-short minutes at 95, Pete slowed town to 70, blending in with the traffic he’d just been sliding through with controlled grace.

He glanced over at Rodney, who had fear on his face, and a little bit of something else. Rodney reached out one hand and lightly touched the back of Pete’s fingers where they rested on the gear shift.

“You are incredibly hot driving this car.” He moved his hand away, and Pete caught himself thinking about what that big, hot hand might feel like on his thigh.  
__

Their seats were right down front, “on the glass,” as Rodney said. “You can really see all the fights from down here.” Pete had to agree as the first player got smashed right in front of them in the opening minutes of the game, causing him to jerk back.

Rodney nudged Pete’s knee with his own. “Don’t worry; the tensile strength of polymethylmethacrylate is 10,000 psi.”

“What?” Pete said.

Rodney looked away from the game long enough to roll his eyes. “The bad man can’t squish you.”

Pete smacked him on the arm.

“Ow! I bruise easily,” Rodney complained.

“Want me to kiss it better?” Pete snapped his mouth shut, horrified, but Rodney burst out laughing.

“You just can’t help flirting, can you?”

“Oh, look – the beer guy!” Pete turned away and got them each a beer, drinking half of his in one long pull.

Pete had to admit the game was exciting, and it certainly moved faster than baseball. At one point, he left to go to the concession stand and brought back hot dogs, pretzels and two more beers. Rodney took the food gladly, but waved away the beer, saying “I’m driving.”

Pete ate, drank both beers, and watched Rodney watch the game. His enthusiasm was almost more fun than the regular fights breaking out on the ice. Also, he radiated heat, and Pete wound up sitting with their arms pressed together when he got cold. Drinking his fifth icy beer didn’t help.

At the end of the game, Pete stood up and stumbled a little. Rodney placed a steadying hand on the small of his back, guiding him to the crowded stairs. They followed the crowd out of the stadium and into the parking lot, only having to search a little to find the Mustang. Pete felt a pang of regret for not getting to drive, but he busied himself with the satellite radio while Rodney got them to the highway. Pete gave Rodney a bit of a hard time for only going 60 on 40 West.

Finally, they pulled into Rodney’s garage. “You know you have to stay over, right?” Rodney sounded as if he expected a vehement protest.

“Okay,” Pete said, getting out of the car and letting himself into the house. He walked to Rodney’s fridge and got each of them another Maverick. He sipped his beer while asking Rodney questions about the game, and wound up with a 1/16 scale drawing of the rink covered with play diagrams that he was too muddled to understand, but it was fun to watch Rodney’s hands fly around.

The third time Rodney yawned, Pete took the mostly empty beer bottles to the trash. “Time for bed.” He led an unresisting Rodney up the stairs.

“My room’s at the end,” Rodney said. “Guest room’s on the right – I’ll get you some sweats to sleep in.”

Rodney made an interesting little squeaking noise when Pete pushed him against the wall and leaned in to brush their lips together. It started out like their first kiss in the parking lot, but Pete pressed in harder, licking at the seam of Rodney’s lips until he opened his mouth to Pete’s questing tongue. It was wholly unlike kissing a woman. He felt free to kiss as hard as he wanted, and Rodney’s faint stubble scratched against his cheek and chin. Pete wound his arms around wide shoulders, digging his fingers into the muscle. Rodney’s hands snaked around his waist, pulling them hip-to-hip, and Pete could feel the length of Rodney’s erection against his thigh.

They pulled apart to get some air, and Rodney brought one hand up to cup Pete’s face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but no.”

“No?” Pete couldn’t believe that Rodney was _turning him down_.

“No.” Rodney pushed Pete away, so they weren’t sealed together from chest to knees. “Not with you playing two beer…”

“Six,” Pete interrupted.

“Six beer queer,” Rodney finished. “Not that I don’t want you, Pete, but not this way.”

Pete leaned back in to rest his forehead against Rodney’s, his eyes closed, breathing heavily. “Who knew?” he said. “Rodney McKay’s a romantic.”

Rodney nodded, then tilted Pete’s head down so he could kiss the top of his head, one hot hand touching the back of his neck in a way that gave him shivers. “We can talk about this tomorrow, if you want.”

Pete nodded and stepped back, keeping his eyes on Rodney until he got to the door of the guest room. He let himself in and went to the bathroom, happy to find an unopened toothbrush and toothpaste. While he brushed, he looked at himself in the mirror, noticing the flush high on his cheeks and the way his lips looked – red and well-kissed. When he came back out to the bedroom, a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt were waiting for him on the bed. There was a glass of water and a small bottle of Tylenol on the bedstand.  
__

Feeling like an asshole – an asshole with a headache – Pete fled the house at 8:00 am, leaving Rodney still in bed and the sweatpants and tee shirt on the guest room dresser. The bright morning sunlight hurt his eyes as he drove home, and he collapsed onto his own bed when he got there. 

He stared at the ceiling until 10:00, then called Rick.

“Wha…” Rick sounded like he was still asleep.

“Are you still asleep?” Pete demanded.

“Only a little.”

“Are you alone?”

“Sadly, yes.” Rick’s voice was starting to sound normal.

“I need you to get coffee and muffins and get your ass over here.” Pete didn’t even try to mask the desperation in his voice.

“On it,” Rick said. “Just hang in there.”

Pete snorted and hung up the phone. When it rang a little while later, he looked at the Caller ID screen, saw that it was Rodney, and held the phone in his hand until the call went to his voicemail.

By the time Rick knocked on the door, he’d progressed from freaked out to freaked out and miserable. Rick handed him his coffee without a word and flopped down on the couch, tossing the bag of muffins onto the table and watching as Pete sat down in the chair, his head lowered.

“What did you do?” Rick asked.

Pete’s voice was quiet. “Jumped him while I was drunk and sneaked out in the morning.”

“Holy crap!” Rick sat up fast, nearly spilling his coffee. “Did you sleep with him?”

Pete shook his head. “He stopped me after the first kiss. Apparently I’m a ‘six beer queer’.”

“And he’s a hell of a good guy,” Rick said. “Most people would have taken you up on that offer. Why’d you sneak out?”

“Because I’m a jerk.” Pete finally looked up. “I was afraid to stay and talk about it.”

“Well, yeah.” Rick nodded sagely. “Talking about feelings sucks.”

“Who said anything about feelings?” Pete said. “There are no feelings.”

“If there were no feelings, he wouldn’t have stopped you and you wouldn’t have run.” He opened the muffin bag and pitched one to Pete. “Eat up; it’s banana nut, your favorite.”

Pete took a bite of his muffin and chewed slowly. “I don’t think this is fixable by banana nut.”

“Me neither, buddy,” Rick said, shaking his head. “Me neither.”  
__

Pete avoided Rodney’s calls all day Saturday and there were none to avoid on Sunday. He spent a lot of time lying on his bed, tossing a baseball up toward the ceiling. The few times he didn’t catch it, he figured he deserved the smacks to the head.


	4. Part Four

Pete walked in the door at CBB at 9:30 on Monday morning, and even his hair looked depressed.

“She wants to see you,” the receptionist said.

Pete sighed, then dropped his briefcase off on his chair before slinking into Nina’s office.

“You look terrible,” she said. “You’re going back to Manhattan.”

Pete wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. “What?”

“The VP of sales wants you back in New York a week from today. You’ve got your get out of jail free card. Now, get out of my office.”

Pete gaped at her. “Just me?”

Nina gave him a piercing look. “Your whole team. I get fresh blood on Monday. Don’t leave your office a mess.”

He stared at her until she made a shooing motion with one hand, then walked down the hall in a daze. He stopped in Rick’s doorway.

Rick looked up. “Hey, buddy. What’s the matter?”

Pete cleared his throat, not sure if he could actually speak. “Home,” he said. “We’re going home.”

Rick moved faster than the speed of light and grabbed Pete in a bear hug, spinning him around. “We’re going home!” He put Pete down and looked at him. “The whole team?” Pete nodded. “I gotta go tell Ted and Jenny.” He ran down the hallway, whooping “Home!” at everyone he passed.

Pete walked to his office sat down in front of his computer. He realized that he only person he wanted to share his news with was the one person he couldn’t call: Rodney. He shook his head and booted up his computer.

Monday 3 October 8:26 am  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
Subject: [none]

Can we talk?

~R.

 

Monday 3 October 10:05 am  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: [none]

I’d like that. Can I come to your house after work?

~Pete

 

Monday 3 October 10:09 am  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
RE: RE: [none]

6:30.

~R.

Pete spent the rest of the day in meetings, starting the process of transferring his clients to other teams and weathering Caitlin’s poisonous glares. He wrapped himself in the persona of The Killer – smirks and smart remarks and casual smugness - but it was all an act. Rick kept looking at him with sympathetic eyes.

He left the office at 5:00 and drove home, changing into jeans and a sweater before driving to Rodney’s. He sat in his car in the driveway for five minutes, trying to work up the nerve to knock on the door. He finally decided to suck it up and go, but the door opened before he got up the steps.

“Come in,” Rodney said. He looked as nervous as Pete felt. Pete walked in and let Rodney lead him into the kitchen. “You want a beer?”

Pete grimaced. “God, no.”

Rodney smiled and brought him a bottle of water instead, hoisting himself up onto the barstool across the island from Pete, toying with the label on his own water bottle.

“Look,” Pete said, gathering his courage. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about leaving, and I’m sorry about avoiding your calls.”

Rodney gave him a half-smile. “What about the kiss?”

Pete looked him in the eye. “I’m not all that sorry about that.”

Rodney gave him the full smile, warm and open, but then it dropped from his face. “I took the government job.”

Pete swallowed hard. “I got transferred back to Manhattan.”

“They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Rodney’s hands moved back and forth on the counter, fingers almost chasing one another.

“Will you be anywhere near New York?”

Rodney shook his head. “Antarctica first, and then even farther away, but I can’t tell you where.”

Pete nodded and drank some more water. “When do you leave?”

“Sunday,” Rodney said. “The university can’t get a substitute in until then. You?”

“Sunday.”

Rodney gave a short, sharp nod. “So we have about a week. If you want it.”

Pete capped his bottle and set it aside. He placed his hands flat on the counter and drew in a deep breath. “I… I really want to kiss you again,” he said.

“Thank god,” Rodney whispered. “Come here.”

Pete pushed himself to his feet and walked slowly around the island. Rodney moved his knees apart, and Pete stepped between them, letting his hands fall naturally onto Rodney’s thighs, feeling the firm muscles there. Rodney’s big, warm hands came up to cup either side of his face, and they both leaned in. Rodney’s mouth was cool from the water and Pete moved into the kiss, deepening it. He stroked his thumbs lightly against Rodney’s thighs, easily opening his mouth to Rodney’s tongue. He didn’t know what he had expected, but it was so good - pretty much the best kiss of his life, and he felt his cock hardening in his jeans.

He moved even closer, shoving Rodney’s legs apart with his hips, pressing his hard on against Rodney’s. “Oh,” he gasped against Rodney’s lips.

Rodney pulled back enough to smile. “Oh, yeah.” He pushed Pete back a step and slid off the bar stool, rubbing against Pete as he went. Pete made a sound low in his throat. “Come on,” Rodney said, taking Pete's hand. He led him to the wide couch in the living room, then pulled Pete’s sweater off, leaving his white tee shirt, and pushed him down on the couch before blanketing him with his broad body, pressing him into the cushions.

“Oh, god,” Pete groaned, arching up. “You feel so good.”

“So do you.” Rodney nosed Pete’s head to the side to kiss his throat. “Tell me if I do something you don’t want, okay?”

Pete could only moan at the feel of Rodney’s teeth in his neck.

Rodney pulled away so he could look him in the eyes. “Pete? I need an okay, here.”

“Yes,” Pete said. “I’ll let you know, just do that again.”

Rodney’s mouth felt so good on his neck, teeth scraping down in little hot lines, his tongue soothing them on the way back up. Pete ran his hands down Rodney’s back, tracing the muscles and stroking along his spine. When he got to Rodney’s hips he held on tighter and pulled him down while lifting his own hips. He had no idea how good it was going to feel, and it was even better when Rodney shoved his thigh between Pete’s legs, giving him something to grind against.

Pete moved his hands, slipping them under Rodney’s shirt and pushing it up. Rodney broke the kiss long enough to pull it off and wrestle Pete’s off as well. Rodney looked down, and Pete could see his eyes tracing over his hairy chest and following the dark line of hair that trailed off into the waistband of his jeans. He turned his own attention to Rodney’s chest, noting the light dusting of dark brown hair and Rodney’s nipples, already erect.

Rodney touched the hollow of his throat, and Pete moaned, moving one hand to sweep over the contours of Rodney’s chest and to touch one nipple fleetingly, coming back to it when Rodney moaned. “Do you like that?” he asked, touching again, flicking with the tips of his fingers.

“God, yes,” Rodney moaned, his own fingers finding one of Pete’s nipples, making him arch up again. He’d never realized he could be sensitive there, that it could feel so good. And it felt even better when Rodney dipped his head to worry at it, sucking and lightly biting.

The couch was wide enough for Rodney to roll to one side, and Pete reached out to pull him back. Rodney laughed, a low, growling sound. “Shh, not going anywhere. I just want to…”

And then Pete got it, hearing the sound of a belt being unbuckled. It took him a second to realize that it was his. Rodney’s fingers brushed against his cock as he pulled the zipper down, and the easing of the pressure of his tight jeans felt like heaven. His jeans were shoved down to mid-thigh, and he felt Rodney carefully working his boxers over and down, exposing his hard on to the cool air.

Rodney shoved at him, getting them both on their sides, facing each other. Pete hissed as his dick rubbed against the rough fabric of Rodney’s jeans. “You, too. Right now.” Pete was sure he sounded desperate, because he certainly _felt_ that way. He helped Rodney get his pants undone and shoved down, and there it was. Rodney’s cock. Thick and dark-looking against the pale skin of his thighs and belly. He reached down and touched it lightly, enchanted by the way it twitched, the feel of it.

“Touch me,” Rodney groaned. “Please, Pete.”

He wrapped his hand around it, getting used to the feel. His grip was probably too loose, but he wanted to get acquainted with the size and the texture and the incredible concept of Pete Sherman jerking another guy off. He completely lost the thread of thoughts when Rodney put one hand around him and started stroking – grip perfect, twisting his hand up and down, thumb brushing over the head before each downstroke. Pete tightened his hand and tried to copy Rodney’s moves.

“Is that right?” he gasped. “Am I doing it right?” He could barely talk through the waves of pleasure that were coursing through him. He could feel the muscles in his thighs and abs clenching as he fucked into Rodney’s hand, the roughness of the slide of skin on skin easing with sweat as they heated up.

“You’re perfect,” Rodney said. “Fucking perfect.”

Pete moved his head, searching for Rodney’s mouth and speeding up the motion of his hand. Rodney obliged by kissing him, wet and messy, before squeezing his dick hard and giving it three fast strokes. Pete made animal noises into Rodney’s mouth as he came all over them both, Rodney gentling him through it, prolonging the pleasure.

As he came back down to earth, Pete realized his hand had stopped moving, that he was just holding Rodney’s dick. He started moving again, and Rodney’s hand covered his. Pete shook him off for a second, moving his hand to run it through the come on his belly before grabbing back on with his slippery hand. Rodney laced their fingers together and helped Pete strip his cock roughly, squeezing just under the head and twisting all the way up until he was gasping and coming and coming.

Pete panted hard, their hands still twined together between them. Rodney pushed his face forward and Pete kissed him slow and soft, keeping their bodies together despite the sticky mess. Rodney kissed his way to Pete’s shoulder, then pulled back enough to look at his face.

“You okay?”

Pete nodded, then buried his face in Rodney’s neck. “Was that as good as I think it was?”

Rodney kissed his forehead. “Better. Want to get cleaned up?”

“Not yet,” Pete said. “This is good.”

“Figures you’d be a snuggler.”

Pete tried to pull away, wondering if he’d crossed some sort of gay sex line, but Rodney pulled him back. “Quit. I like it. We just need to remember to wipe off before we get stuck together. You don’t want to lose any of that chest hair.”

Pete tried to smack Rodney on the arm, but he didn’t really have the strength for it.

“Is there a homosexual freakout planned for anytime soon?” Rodney asked.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Pete said. “Afterglowing here.”  
__

Tuesday 4 October 9:35 am  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
Subject: Hi

Sorry you had to leave last night. I would have liked for you to stay. Maybe tonight?

~R.

 

Tuesday 4 October 10:21 am  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: Hi

I’m sorry, too. Sleeping alone sucked more than usual. I’ve got a dinner meeting. I can be there by 9:00 or so if that’s okay.

~Pete

 

Tuesday 4 October 11:06 am  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
RE: RE: Hi

Obviously, you haven’t heard me snore. 9:00 is fine. See you then.

~R.  
__

Pete went home at lunch and packed an overnight bag.

As soon as he returned to the office, everyone descended on him – Nina with questions about his accounts, Rick with questions about the move, Caitlin with jealous remarks – the deluge lasted until it was time to leave for his dinner meeting. The meeting sadly included Caitlin and several of the uptight executives from Coleman, who were not happy about their account being transferred. Pete had to kiss ass while Caitlin played the competent account executive, and all he could think of was _escape_ and _Rodney_ and _sleep_.

It was after 10:00 when he made it to Rodney’s, stumbling up the walk with his suit jacket folded over his arm, clutching his bag like a lifeline. Rodney answered the door disheveled and in sweats, his hair sticking up on one side and sleep-creases on his cheek.

“Fell asleep,” he mumbled, rubbing his chin. “Come in, you look beat.”

“Oh, my god… bed.” Pete didn’t have the energy for anything else. Rodney took the bag out of his hand, and Pete reeled him in for a soft kiss, leaning against his sleep-warmed body. Rodney stroked his back for a minute before leading him up the stairs.

Rodney’s bedroom was neater than he expected, and Pete went through the motions of hanging his suit up and dragging a dress shirt out of his bag, hoping the worst of the wrinkles would fall out by morning. He stripped to his boxers and face-planted on the bed, where Rodney was already under the covers. Rodney manhandled him under the sheet and blanket, then turned off the lamp before pulling Pete into his arms and kissing the side of his face.  
__

The alarm rang for less than a second before Rodney slapped the snooze bar without moving any part of his body other than his hand. Pete took a moment to figure out where he was, and then his bladder suggested that he get the hell up. He stumbled into the bathroom and found the toothbrush he’d used last time already waiting on the vanity, so he brushed, looking at his red eyes and stubble in the mirror.

He slipped back into the bed and Rodney rolled toward him, warm and soft and sleepy, wrapping an arm across his waist. He was almost back asleep when the alarm rang again. Rodney turned over and switched it off without even glancing at it. He heaved himself out of bed and navigated by touch, dragging his fingers across the furniture until he stumbled into the bathroom. He was back a few minutes later, smelling minty, his eyes open. He climbed back into the bed and kissed Pete hard on the mouth.

“Morning,” Pete said, surrendering to a series of kisses down the side of his neck.

“Mmmmrphnm,” Rodney answered, his voice muffled by a mouthful of Pete’s shoulder.

Pete shuddered, reaching his hands down to touch as much of Rodney’s skin as he could. Releasing his shoulder, Rodney continued downward, licking a hot stripe down the center of his chest and belly, stopping at the waistband of Pete’s boxers.

He looked up, eyes shining. “I want to suck you.”

“Please,” Pete moaned. “Oh, god. Yes. Please.” He felt his boxers sliding down and off, and Rodney’s mouth closing on the head of his cock, hot and wet and tight. He lost all his vocabulary then, reduced to moans and grunts and half-words as Rodney gave him the best blowjob he’d ever had. Sucking and licking, broad hands pressing Pete’s hips to the bed, swallowing him down when he came embarrassingly fast, staring up at him with big blue eyes.

Pete looked down, ready to pull Rodney up, and saw his hand whipping along his cock. Rodney was curled up between his legs, head resting on his hip, and Pete reached down to stroke his hair and the back of his neck until he felt a hot splash against his leg and heard Rodney moan his name. He kept stroking for a while until Rodney inchwormed his way up the bed, falling into Pete’s arms, head resting on one sweaty shoulder.

“That’s the best wake-up call I ever got.” Pete gently kissed the side of Rodney’s head. “Shower now?”

The shower was big enough for two, with hot water and great pressure. Even better was the feeling of Rodney’s soap-slick hands running over his body, carefully washing every inch. Pete dipped his head and let Rodney wash his hair, moaning in pleasure as strong fingers scrubbed back and forth against his scalp. He returned the favor, then pulled Rodney out of the shower and carefully dried them both.

Pete went into the bedroom to get dressed, and came back in his suit pants and tee shirt, fixing his hair while he peeked out of the corner of his eye to watch Rodney shave. They traded places and Rodney openly stared as Pete lathered up and scraped the stubble from his chin and cheeks.

When Pete rinsed his face, Rodney moved to stand behind him, pressing his hips against Pete’s ass while bringing his hands up to sweep over smooth skin. Pete pushed back and ducked his head into Rodney’s hands.

“You’re gorgeous.” One of Rodney’s hands slid down Pete’s neck, making him shiver. Rodney stroked his throat for a moment, then stepped away. “I’ve got a class in half an hour.”

Pete turned around and kissed Rodney gently, then slipped away to return to the bedroom for his shirt and suit jacket. While he put on his socks and shoes, he watched Rodney get dressed in wrinkled khakis and a tee shirt. Rodney sat next to him on the bed to pull on a pair of battered sneakers.

“Is this your absentminded professor get-up?”

“One of my perks. Eccentric physicists can dress like slobs. It’s part of our charm.” Rodney stood and pulled Pete to his feet and went back to the closet for a jacket.

Pete reached for his overnight bag, but Rodney caught his hand. “Leave it?” He looked hopeful. 

Pete nodded. “I’ll have to go back to my place for a clean suit, though.”

Rodney herded Pete down the stairs to the foyer, slinging a battered leather bag over his shoulder. “Come back here after? We’ll go to dinner.”

Pete grabbed his keys from the little table by the door and nodded. He snared the strap of Rodney’s bag and tugged, and Rodney moved easily into his arms for a long, slow kiss. Rodney groped his ass a little, then pushed him out the front door, locking it behind him.

Pete smiled all the way to work.  
__

Pete’s day was filled with boring meetings and his stop at his apartment was quick. Dinner could have been anything for all that he tasted it. Rodney took him home, stripped him naked and taught him a new French word: frottage.  
__

Thursday 6 October 9:42 am  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
Subject: Late for work

Sorry I made you late for work. Okay, not really.

~R.

 

Thursday 6 October 9:51 am  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: Subject: Late for work

I consider making out in the kitchen a valid reason to be late.

~Pete

 

Thursday 6 October 10:15 am  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
RE: RE: Subject: Late for work

Does Nina?

~R.

 

Thursday 6 October 10:20 am  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: RE: RE: Subject: Late for work

Please do not invoke Nina; you’re ruining my afterglow.

~Pete

 

Thursday 6 October 11:04 am  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
RE: RE: RE: RE: Subject: Late for work

I have a lunch thing – see you after work?

~R.

 

Thursday 6 October 11:23 am  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Subject: Late for work

I have a late meeting, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.

~Pete

 

Thursday 6 October 11:39 am  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Subject: Late for work

Good. I have a surprise for you.

~R.

 

Thursday 6 October 11:23 am  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Subject: Late for work

Should I be nervous?

~Pete

 

Thursday 6 October 11:39 am  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Subject: Late for work

Not nervous, per se. Maybe just eager. ;>

~R.  
__

Pete was indeed eager. So eager that, when he went to his apartment to pick up clothes (for the entire weekend, not just overnight), he sprawled on the couch and took the erection he’d had since 11:39 am in hand. As he stroked himself slowly with one hand, the other one moving down to lightly touch his balls, he brought up the memory of the night before.

He’d never known that he could get off on having a heavy body hold him down, on the slide of Rodney’s cock pushing against his hip and his own doing the same to Rodney. Then, it had gotten really good, Rodney reaching over to the bedside table for a tube of lubricant and slicking them both to ease the almost-painful friction down to long, sensuous strokes that made every hair on Pete’s body stand up. 

Rodney, as it turned out, was a massive tease. He brought Pete to the edge, then backed off, getting a hand between them to touch Pete’s cock too lightly, too softly – enough to keep him hard and ready, but not enough to make him come. And, oh god, Pete had wanted to come. He’d said so, drawing an evil laugh from Rodney, who pressed them together and wrapped one hand around both their dicks so that Pete had double sensation – Rodney’s long fingers on one side and his hot, hard cock on the other.

Bringing Pete to the brink once again, Rodney pulled away, making Pete cry out and _beg_ to come. He felt Rodney’s slippery hand move down to cradle his balls, already pulled tight against his body. Rodney had pushed Pete’s thighs apart, moving down to kneel between them so he could have both hands free, one to stroke Pete’s cock and the other to press up behind his balls, finding a spot that made Pete’s vision spark and made him come like a freight train hurtling through his body. While Pete was still gasping and coming, Rodney lowered himself back down and rubbed his cock through Pete’s come and over his belly, adding to the hot slickness between them with a long groan.

Before he went back to work, Pete had to change his shirt.

And his tie.  
__

Thursday 6 October 1:45 pm  
To: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
From: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
Subject: Question

So, what did you do at lunch? ;>

~R.

 

Thursday 6 October 2:02 pm  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: Subject: Question

Shut up.

~Pete


	5. Part Five

It felt good to drive to Rodney’s house with the windows down and his suit bag hanging in the back. It felt good to know where he was going. It felt good to have something (or someone) to look forward to, so Pete refused to dwell on the realities of the situation; they’d hit soon enough.

Rodney met him at the door with a smile, taking his bag and leading Pete upstairs. He pulled jeans and a sweater out and hustled Pete into the casual clothes. Pete let himself be pushed and pulled on the tide of Rodney’s enthusiasm and his own languid easiness – whether it was from the orgasm at lunch or the drive over, he couldn’t say.

When they got down to the kitchen, Pete suddenly understood Rodney’s hurry. Out on the veranda, there were two lounge chairs set up in perfect position to watch the sunset. Rodney looked at him so bashfully that Pete had to kiss him.

“You big softie,” Pete mumbled against Rodney’s lips. “You’re all about the big romantic gesture, aren’t you?”

Rodney dropped his hands to Pete’s waist and pulled him in closer, leaving no space at all between them. “This is my last chance,” he said. “When this new job starts, I’ve got to go back to being petty, arrogant and bad with people. It’s expected.”

“I still don’t think you’re petty,” Pete said, and laughed when Rodney playfully bit his neck, before leading him out to the veranda. The back yard was beautifully landscaped, with a smooth green lawn that ended in a stand of trees at the edge of the property. Pete decided that the loungers were big enough for two, and he settled onto one before pulling Rodney down to sit between his spread legs. After a little shuffling, they settled – Pete with his arms around Rodney’s chest and his chin hooked over his shoulder; Rodney leaning back with his hands resting loosely on Pete’s knees.

“Tell me about the new job,” Pete said, keeping his eyes on the darkening sky, his hands still against the top of Rodney’s abdomen, feeling each slow breath.

“It’s mostly classified.”

“So tell me what you can.” Pete dropped a series of small kisses on Rodney’s shoulder and as far as he could reach on his neck without spraining something.

“Well, first I go to Antarctica.” Rodney affected a shiver. “I hear it’s slightly less cold than Siberia. There’s an archeological site there.”

“Why does and archeological dig need an astrophysicist?”

“That’s part of the stuff I can’t tell you.” Rodney’s fingers dug lightly into the muscles above Pete’s knees. “They just do.”

“What happens after that?”

“Well, what goes on there will determine if we go to the second part of the mission.” Rodney sighed. “If it doesn’t work, I’m screwed – I signed a five-year contract, so I might find myself back in Siberia.”

“Will you be working with the same General you pissed off?”

“He retired, thank god. I hope the new guy likes me better.” Rodney rolled his head against Pete’s shoulder.

“Well, _I_ like you.” Pete tightened his arms. It was true that he liked Rodney, and that he liked whatever was going on between them. He was going to miss this, even if he’d only had it for a short time. Rodney leaned back against him, warm and strong and easy in his arms, so Pete let it go and simply watched the sun begin its long slide down the sky.

He put his mouth close to Rodney’s ear. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”  
__

Back inside, Rodney pulled a pizza out of the oven, still warm in its cardboard box. Pete found plates and napkins and grabbed them each a beer from the refrigerator.

“Drink up,” Rodney said. “This is the last of it.”

Pete took a swig of his beer and dragged a piece of pizza onto his plate. “Does your replacement get grandfathered in for the beer?”

“Don’t know.” Rodney drank some of his own beer. “If he’s lucky he will.”

Pete noticed that Rodney was barely eating, which was weird, because he usually attacked food like it was going to walk off.

Pete gestured with his own pizza slice. “What’s up with you?”

Rodney shrugged.

“No, really,” Pete said, “What’s up?”

Rodney looked up, his chin tilting at an angle, his eyes searching Pete’s face. “I want you to fuck me.”

Pete dropped his pizza, which – of course – landed face-down on his plate.

“I take it that’s a ‘yes’?”

Pete very carefully swallowed the pizza in his mouth, trying not to choke. “You realize that I have no idea what I’m doing, right?”

Rodney took a sip of his beer and looked smug – no trace of his earlier nervousness left. “It’s okay. I’m an excellent teacher.”  
__

Pete lost his sweater in the kitchen. Rodney’s shirt hit the hardwood floor in the foyer. Pete’s shoes wound up at the bottom of the stairs, Rodney’s somewhere in the middle. By the time they reached the bedroom door, Pete’s pants were hanging off his hips and Rodney had both hands inside them. Pants and socks and boxers were flung to the four corners of the room and then they were naked on the bed.

Pete froze, lying half-on, half-off Rodney’s chest.

Rodney raised his head from where he was licking Pete’s neck. “Are you freaking out?”

Pete nodded.

“Well, quit it. This is fun, I promise.” As if to punctuate his words, Rodney dragged Pete all the way on top of him and proceeded to kiss him silly.

Pete shuddered when Rodney brought his hands down along his sides to grab his hips, then slipped them over to rest on Pete’s ass, stroking gently. “You’re gorgeous,” Rodney said. “You’re perfect, and this is going to be so good. I’ve been thinking about this since the night I didn’t kiss you.” Rodney’s hands squeezed, making Pete throw his head back with a long groan. “I want you, Pete. Want you inside me.”

Pete was eminently glad that he’d jerked off at lunch, because if he hadn’t, Rodney’s words would have sent him crashing over the edge. “Show me,” he said between gasps. “Show me how.”

“Drawer,” Rodney said, his voice low and urgent. “Condoms and lube.”

Pete obeyed, grabbing the supplies and putting them on the bed next to him. Rodney spread his legs, letting Pete’s fall between them. “Get up on your knees; you’ll need both hands.”

Pete stayed where he was, reaching his hands up to cup Rodney’s head and kiss him deeply. He pulled back with a series of gentle kisses on Rodney’s lips and cheeks and forehead, trailing down to his neck and the hollow of his throat before sitting back onto his heels.

Rodney rested his hands lightly on Pete’s thighs. “Hand me the condom,” he said. “You’re about to get your hands slippery.”

That thought caused Pete to close his eyes, trying to hold back the need to come that was boiling up inside him. He handed Rodney the condom packet, then picked up the lube. He opened it and got some onto his fingers, rubbing his thumb against the slickness.

“You look so serious,” Rodney said, bending his knees and placing his feet flat on the bed. “I’m going to assume you know where your target is.”

Pete slipped his fingers behind Rodney’s balls, rubbing around and over the entrance to his body. “Target acquired,” he said when Rodney pushed his hips up.

Pete let his finger slide around a little more, then pressed forward. Rodney was hot and smooth inside, and the grip on his finger was tight, tighter than anything he’d ever felt. Rodney moaned, and Pete pushed again, easing his finger all the way in.

“That’s good,” Rodney said. “That’s really good. More.”

Pete stilled. “More what?”

Rodney laughed out loud and Pete was amazed that he felt it from the inside. “More lube, more fingers.” Rodney said like it was something Pete should already know. He groaned when Pete slowly slid his finger out, then shuddered when he came back with two.

“Is that good?” Pete carefully worked the tips of his fingers inside, feeling the clench of Rodney’s ass ease, letting him in. Rodney’s body took both fingers all the way.

“It’s great.” Rodney panted. “Turn your hand; crook your fingers.”

Pete followed the instructions, stopping when Rodney suddenly made a low noise and arched up. Pete immediately pulled his fingers out and sat back on his heels. “Oh, my god. Did I hurt you?”

Rodney propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at Pete with an exasperated expression. “For the love of god,” he said. “It’s called a prostate gland and, no, you didn’t hurt me. Do it again.”

Just to be sure, Pete squeezed some more lube onto his hand. “This is where that ‘bad with people’ thing comes in, right?”

Rodney’s reply was cut off by Pete pushing his fingers back inside, this time finding the hot spot easily and avidly watching Rodney flex and roll his head against the pillow. “So what you’re telling me is that it’s good?”

“I should have known you’d be a smartass even in bed.” 

Pete pulled back and slowly worked three fingers in, reducing Rodney to moans and gasping noises. Finally sure that he was doing it right, Pete turned his attention to Rodney’s cock. It was dark with blood and lying against Rodney’s belly, and Pete touched it lightly with his dry hand, watching Rodney squirm from the dual sensations. Carefully gauging his flexibility, Pete leaned down and gently kissed the tip, his tongue sweeping out to taste bitter and salt and _Rodney_.

“Oh, god. Please, Pete.” 

Rodney was thrashing on the pillow in earnest, and his whole body tensed when Pete bent further to take the head into his mouth, sucking experimentally. He pulled off with a lick and started moving his fingers in and out, wondering if three fingers were as wide as his cock. That thought made him stop and breathe heavily for a moment. His cock was going to be in there – in Rodney’s ass. In that hot, smooth space that was so tight against his fingers.

“Tell me what to do,” Pete moaned. “I’m dying here.”

In answer, Rodney sat up slightly, the motion causing Pete’s fingers to slide out part of the way. He tore the condom package and flicked the plastic onto the floor. He fumbled for the lube and got it open, squeezing some directly into the condom.

“What’s that for?” Pete pretty much thought the lube went on the _outside_.

“Trust me,” Rodney said, his hands reaching for Pete. “It makes it feel even better – slippery is good.” He held Pete’s cock steady and rolled the condom on, then stroked more lube on the outside. “Fingers out; cock in,” he told Pete, wiping his hand on the sheet as he lay back flat on the bed.

“So romantic,” Pete said, sliding his fingers out and following Rodney’s cue to wipe the majority of the lube off his hand. “Can I get a little clarification?”

Rodney shoved himself down so that his ass was resting on Pete’s thighs, pushed one knee out to the side and wrapped the other leg around his waist.

“Much better,” Pete said, then he took a deep breath and guided the head of his cock to Rodney’s ass. He pressed in a couple of inches, and then had to stop – both to let Rodney’s body to adjust and to talk himself down from the orgasm that was threatening to end this before it even started.

“More,” Rodney said, the leg around Pete’s waist tightening to reel him in.

Oh, _god_ ,” Pete moaned as he slid all the way inside, not stopping until his hips were flush against Rodney’s body.

“Told you,” Rodney said.

“And there’s the arrogance,” Pete panted, pulling back experimentally. There wasn’t much talking after that, just some moans and half words. Pete sank into Rodney’s body over and over again, feeling the slick, tight grip of his ass. It was completely different from fucking a woman – tighter, smoother, and he didn’t have to be careful, he could slam into Rodney and be welcomed, even urged on.

Pete looked down and saw that Rodney had one hand around his own cock, jerking himself off, the other was digging almost painfully into Pete’s forearm and he fleetingly hoped that he would have bruises, have something tangible to remember this by, even if just for a few days. The look on Rodney’s face was insanely beautiful – pleasure and pain and joy – and when those blue eyes opened to stare into Pete’s face, he couldn’t stop the rush. Every muscle in his body tightened, and he shoved forward into Rodney again and again, riding out the waves.

He was slowing down and starting to fall forward when Rodney’s hand sped up, making himself come. Pete made a short, sharp noise when Rodney’s ass clenched down on his too-sensitive cock, and he pulled away faster than he meant to. Luckily, Rodney was too far gone to notice, pulling Pete down on top of him, heedless of the sticky mess.

When their breathing returned to normal, Pete pulled back enough to look at Rodney without his eyes crossing. “So, that was good?”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Look who’s arrogant now.”

Pete gave him The Killer’s grin. “It’s not arrogance if you can back it up.”

Rodney kissed him and pinched his ass. Pete hauled himself up and reluctantly went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He brought back a towel, and flopped down on the bed while Rodney cleaned up.

Throwing the towel on the floor, Rodney curled up next to Pete, his fingers drawing absent swirls in his chest hair. “I want you to have the Mustang,” he said.

Pete was speechless. But not for long. “The sex was _that_ good?”

Rodney flicked the end of his nose. “I can’t take it to Antarctica, and I paid for it in cash. Do you keep a car in New York?”

“Yeah,” Pete said slowly. “It’s part of my deal with CCB: company car, garaging. It’s a lease, though.”

“So turn it back in and take the Mustang. I know you’ll take good care of it.”

Pete placed his hand on top of Rodney’s on his chest. “You can loan it to me. That way you’ll have to come pick it up some day.”

Rodney turned his head and smiled. “I’ll sign it over to you, but I’ll try to come visit it some day.”  
__

The pizza was good cold. Making out in the kitchen was still great. There was hockey on TV, and the bed was soft and warm. Morning came too soon.  
__

Friday 7 October 12:02 pm  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
Subject: Moving

I just arranged to have my stuff packed and moved. Is yours taken care of?

~Your Best Student

 

Friday 7 October 1:15 pm  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: Subject: Moving

The University is taking care of it.

~Teacher of the Year

 

Friday 7 October 12:02 pm  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: RE: Subject: Moving

The office people want to throw a going-away party tonight. Will you be my date?

~Pete

 

Friday 7 October 1:28 pm  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: RE: RE: Subject: Moving

Sure. Where is it? I can meet you.

~R.

 

Friday 7 October 2:07 pm  
To: Dr. Rodney I. McKay [rmckay@duke.edu]  
From: Pete [psherman@cbb.com]  
RE: RE: RE: RE: Subject: Moving

I’ll come home first and we can go together.

~Pete  
__

Pete didn’t know whether to knock or walk right in to Rodney’s house. He didn’t know the etiquette. Did fucking a guy get you walk-in privileges?

He was saved from figuring it out when one of the upstairs windows opened and Rodney poked his head out. “Come in, you idiot.” Rodney seemed just as… well… _Rodney_ as ever.

Pete came up the stairs stripping his suit jacket off just as Rodney came out of one of the unused bedrooms. “Hey, dummy,” he said, giving Pete a kiss.

Pete caught him around the waist for a longer kiss. “Idiot? Dummy?” he said. “You do realize I’m not _actually_ one of your students, right?”

“Sorry,” Rodney said. “I’ve been on the phone with bureaucrats all afternoon. It makes me cranky.”

Pete kissed him lightly again. “What makes you not cranky?”

“Blowjobs,” Rodney answered immediately.

“Cool,” Pete said with a broad smile. “We can try that after the party.” He swept off to the master bedroom to change, leaving Rodney open-mouthed in the hall.  
__

The party was being held at the rental house of one of the art directors. Pete and Rodney pulled into the driveway at the same time as Rick, who came over to the driver’s side window and gave a low whistle.

“Nice car,” he said admiringly, giving Pete a pointed look. “And he lets you drive it?”

Pete lowered his voice. “I’m good in bed.”

Rodney laughed out loud, and Pete had to nudge Rick with the car door to get him to move back a step so he could get out.

The party was nice – gorgeous house, great food, decent music – and Pete’s entire team was treated like visiting monarchs. Pete and Rodney found a happy rhythm that included mingling and occasional movements into each others’ orbits without being overt. Rick pestered Pete for details, but all he got for his trouble was smirks and knowing smiles.

The only time Pete faltered was when he spotted Rodney and Nina deep in conversation in a corner. The next time Rodney passed by him, Pete snagged his sleeve. “Were you talking to _Nina_?”

“Oh, yeah,” Rodney said, eating a canapé. “I wish she had a couple of doctorates – I’d take her with me. She’d be great for my team.”

Pete goggled at him. “What… what would her qualifications be?”

Rodney grinned at him and turned back to the food table. “Petty, arrogant and bad with people,” he said over his shoulder.  
__

They left the party by 11:00 in a flurry of hugs and well-wishes. Even from Nina, which made Rodney smirk and creeped Pete out in a big way. Rodney waved Pete into the driver’s seat. “It’s yours now; you better get used to it.” Pete smiled all the way home.  
__

“This will be the easiest,” Rodney said, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “Besides, I bet you look great on your knees.”

Pete gave him a dirty look, but he threw a pillow down and knelt on it between Rodney’s legs. He brought one hand up to touch Rodney’s cock, then leaned in to lick across the tip just to hear Rodney moan. He bent his neck and licked some more, getting the skin good and wet before he took it into his mouth. He immediately went too far and choked, coming up with watering eyes and a cough.

“Jesus,” Rodney said, petting the side of Pete’s face. “Go slow, okay? You don’t have to be a porn star first time out of the gate.”

Pete coughed again. “I just want it to be good.”

Rodney smiled. “You touching me any way is good.”

Pete rewarded that with a lick, then tried again, slower. He experimented, finding that a hand wrapped around the base had the dual effect of stopping him from accidentally choking to death and providing Rodney with more friction. He found a rhythm, sliding up to suck on just the head, grabbing a breath and then going down as far as he could, tentatively moving his tongue against the silky skin. Rodney pushed his hands through Pete’s hair and moaned, his knees moving in to press against Pete’s shoulders, hips lifting minutely from the bed.

Pete started moving his hand up and down in counterpoint, his lips meeting his fingers in the middle. He could feel Rodney’s cock getting impossibly harder in his mouth when he was suddenly pushed back and Rodney’s hand joined his.

“I’m going to…” Rodney groaned, and Pete felt hot splashes hit his chest as Rodney came, his body folding over Pete’s back.

As soon as he regained his breath, Rodney dragged Pete onto the bed, pushed him down on his back and sucked his brains out through his dick.  
__

Saturday morning, Pete woke up to the unmistakable feeling of Rodney hard cock pressed against the back of his thigh. He pushed back against it, causing the arm around his waist to tighten, but Rodney didn’t awaken. Pete squirmed out from under the restraining arm, turning onto his side. He’d always thought that people looked younger when they were asleep, but Rodney pretty much looked like Rodney, only with his hair sticking up and his face smashed into the pillow.

Pete reached out and brushed his fingers across one of Rodney’s nipples, which perked up. Rodney groaned a little in his sleep, instinctively curling his body toward Pete, who slipped down, pushing the covers back, working his way down to the insistent cock that had woken him. Pete was trying to find his rhythm from the night before when he felt fingers combing through his hair. He pulled off with a slurping noise and an upward glance. Rodney was smiling down at him sleepily.

“Hey,” Rodney said, his voice rough with sleep. 

Pete nuzzled his bristly cheek against Rodney’s cock, causing sleepy eyes to go wide.

Rodney tugged at his hair. “Get up here and fuck me.”

He didn’t have to tell Pete twice. He crawled up the bed, reaching toward the bedside table. Rodney rolled to one side and Pete snugged himself against his back, their bodies making a matching curve. Pete slicked his hand and reached between them to slide his fingers into Rodney while gently kissing the back of his neck, and Rodney made quiet encouraging noises.

Pete fumbled with the condom but finally got it on, pushing Rodney’s top leg forward to give himself more room. He steadied himself and pushed inside in a long glide. He waited for Rodney to adjust.

“Move,” Rodney said, reaching back to curl his hand around Pete’s neck. “Please.”

Pete started a gentle motion, moving out and then back in as slowly as he could, one hand curled around Rodney’s side, the one pinned between them resting against his shoulder blade. Rodney panted, shoving his hips backward, trying to speed the pace.

“No,” Pete said, keeping his movements measured. “Let me go slow. Let me have this.” Rodney relaxed against him, and Pete smiled into the back of his neck. He held on to his control, resisting the urge to slam himself into Rodney; he wanted to remember this. Pete wasn’t fooling himself – this would be one of the last times he had Rodney, and he wanted to have this memory to take out and turn over and over when things got rough. He wanted Rodney to give him this.

Pete didn’t know if it lasted minutes or hours, only that he was exactly where he wanted to be; where he wanted to stay. Eventually, he moved both of their hands down to Rodney’s cock, making a circle of their fingers and letting the gentle tense and roll of their bodies push and pull it into their hands. When Rodney came, it was long and drawn-out, ending on a sigh instead of a shout. Pete kept moving for just a few moments longer before following him over.  
__

They stayed in bed until early afternoon, getting up only to finish packing Rodney’s suitcase and to drive over to Pete’s to get the few things he was taking with him, leaving everything else for the movers to deal with. They dropped Pete’s car off at the CBB office, leaving the keys on the receptionist’s desk.

Pete called Rick and asked if he wanted to drive back to New York with him the next day, but didn’t mention the Mustang, letting Rick believe they were taking the leased Lexus. Pete and Rodney stopped off for an early dinner, toying with their food and staring at each other across the table.

By silent agreement, they went back to Rodney’s house and bypassed the living room and the kitchen, walking straight up the stairs and into the bedroom. They undressed slowly and climbed into the bed, automatically rolling toward the center and each other.

Pete buried his head in Rodney’s neck. “I hate this.” His voice was muffled.

“I know.” Rodney stroked Pete’s hair and down to his neck.

Pete couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound like a Harlequin romance, so he just kissed Rodney’s throat instead. When Rodney tipped his head back, Pete progressed to licks and gentle bites, working his way down to the spot where neck and shoulder joined and biting a little harder there.

“Can I leave a mark?” he asked, suddenly consumed with the desire to do so.

“Yeah,” Rodney moaned. “Please.”

Pete didn’t waste any time, latching on to Rodney’s neck, licking and sucking and biting, steadily increasing the pressure, hearing Rodney’s moans get louder and deeper. When he pulled away, there was a dark purple bruise coming up, under skin wet from his mouth. He leaned down and kissed the spot tenderly.

Rodney surged against him, grinding his hard cock into Pete’s thigh and turning his face up for a rough kiss. Pete took it for a moment, then gentled it, easing the kiss from wild to deeper and softer, carrying Rodney along with him. He pulled back to breathe and looked into Rodney’s eyes. “I want you to fuck me.”

Rodney’s eyes widened and his eyebrows arched up in surprise. “Really? Are you sure?” His voice cracked on the end of the last word.

Pete nodded, then cupped Rodney’s face and kissed him slowly. “I’m sure. I want it to be you.”

“God,” Rodney groaned, closing his eyes. “I could come just from hearing you say that.”

“Don’t,” Pete said. He leaned over Rodney and grabbed the supplies from the bed table, where he’d left them that morning. 

Rodney took the condom and lube and shoved it under his pillow, then turned all of his considerable attention and brain power on Pete. He rolled over, pinning Pete beneath him and starting an onslaught on his senses.

Pete moaned and growled and Rodney systematically searched out and exploited every one of his hot spots – some he didn’t even know he had. Fingers and lips and tongue worked their way across his body – neck and shoulders, thighs and hips and fingers; kissing, licking, nipping at Pete’s over-sensitized skin.

Pete shoved his hips up, trying desperately to get Rodney’s hand on his cock, any kind of friction. He’d never been so hard in his life, so eager to get to _whatever came next_ , almost mindless with arousal. Rodney seemed to have a sixth sense about it, because just when Pete thought he was going to die, he felt slick fingers trace behind his balls to sweep back and forth, over and around.

Rodney played him like an instrument –his fingertip sliding just inside and back out again with barely-there touches and retreats, always moving away before Pete could grind down against them.

“Please, Rodney, _please_ ,” he begged, and finally, _finally_ Rodney pushed into him a little, his finger slick and hard and hot. The only thing that kept Pete from coming was Rodney’s other hand, which snaked around the base of his cock, holding just tight enough and just in the right place to stave off Pete’s orgasm. Pete pulled his knees up to get his feet on the bed for leverage, causing Rodney’s finger to slide all the way into him. The shock of the sudden pressure eased him back from the edge.

“Did I hurt you?” Rodney asked, worry in his voice.

“No,” Pete moaned. “Don’t stop.”

He felt Rodney pull away, and the fingers came back slicker and there were _two_ of them. As they worked their way in, Pete started pushing himself down, and Rodney held still, letting Pete control the pace. He worked a third finger inside the same way, and Pete could hear the harsh breaths, and he fleetingly wondered how Rodney was keeping such control. Rodney reached up, grabbing one of Pete’s hands where it was clutching the sheets, bringing it down to his own cock. Pete tried to stroke himself, but Rodney pulled his hand down to the base of his cock and wrapped it around, leaving it there.

“Hold on,” he said. Then he reached down and cupped Pete’s ass, pulling his hip slightly up and he slid his fingers free, touching something inside that made Pete see stars and almost come, even with the tight hold on his cock. Rodney just held him, nuzzling his thigh, until Pete felt safe enough to release his hold. 

Rodney sat back on his heels and drew Pete up with him, turning him onto his knees to face the headboard. “This will be easier,” he said, pressing Pete’s fingers to the top bar and moving Pete’s knees farther apart with one of his own.

Pete let his head hang down, taking deep shuddering breaths. He heard the snick of the lube cap and the sounds of Rodney opening and putting on a condom. He made a low, broken sound when the head of Rodney’s cock pressed against him and then inside.

It hurt; he could feel the burn of tissues stretching, the deep pain of muscles giving way. Rodney went so slow – that iron control again – and Pete felt the hurt start to ease, to turn into something better, something good. Rodney pulled back a little, then pushed forward, going in just a little deeper, repeating the motion until he was all the way in, his hips lightly bumping Pete’s.

“You okay?” Rodney’s voice was tight and controlled.

“It’s good,” Pete gasped, surprised to find that it was true.

“Please say I can move.”

Before the “yes” was all the way out of Pete’s mouth, Rodney was drawing carefully away, then sliding all the way back in, slow and gentle. It felt like the world’s slowest tease, making Pete want more. He moaned every time Rodney pushed in, letting his head hang further between his arms, his fingers gripping the headboard tightly.

“More,” he begged, then moved his hands to brace on the wall when Rodney started really fucking. The friction was incredible, as was the feeling of fullness, the stretching of his body. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, Rodney pushed Pete’s legs a little further apart and adjusted his angle the tiniest bit so that he could rub across his prostate on every stroke.

Pete could hear himself making sharp noises, but he could just as soon have stopped gravity or a roaring waterfall than quiet himself. One of Rodney’s hands curled tight around his body and slipped down to touch his cock. All it took was one touch and Pete was coming. He felt his orgasm everywhere – pounding in the pulse in his neck; thrumming through the muscles in his arms and legs; in his cock and in his ass as it clutched frantically at Rodney’s dick.

Rodney powered into him three or four more times before freezing in place, fingers digging into Pete’s hips, whispering Pete’s name against the back of his neck.

Rodney pulled away gently and helped uncurl Pete’s fingers from around the headboard, kissing the back of each hand before easing him onto his side. Pete drifted in a satisfied haze while Rodney disposed of the condom and came back with a warm, wet cloth to clean him up. Rodney laughed as he wiped the headboard and a couple of spots on the wall, too.

Finally, Rodney slipped into the bed beside him and Pete pressed himself into Rodney’s side. Strong arms came around to hold him, and the steady beat of Rodney’s heart sent him to sleep.  
__

“Whose idea was an 8:00 flight anyway?” Pete stood in front of the mirror, trying to crane his head to see the hickey on his shoulder blade.

“Stupid Air Force,” Rodney grumbled. He stopped behind Pete and touched the mark, pressing his fingers into it hard enough to make Pete hiss. He moved his hands down, placing his fingertips in the perfect sets of bruises on Pete’s hips. Sighing, Pete turned in his arms, licking across his own mark, low on Rodney’s neck.

They showered and got dressed, trying not to look straight at each other. Instead, they sneaked glances, looking at one another sideways or from the edges of the room. With a final look at the clock, they realized they couldn’t put it off any longer and they met in the center of the bedroom for one last, long kiss.

When they reluctantly pulled apart, Rodney opened his mouth, only to be shushed by Pete’s fingers. “Don’t,” Pete said. “Just don’t. This is hard enough as it is.” Rodney nodded, then kissed Pete gently before reaching for his suitcase.

They didn’t talk on the way to the airport; Rodney just kept one big, warm hand on Pete’s thigh, squeezing the muscle lightly. At the airport, Pete parked and they both got out of the car. He retrieved Rodney’s suitcase and set it down beside the tire.

“Don’t come in,” Rodney said. “I don’t think I could…”

“Me either.” Pete put his hands on Rodney’s shoulders and leaned in for a chaste kiss, just a brush of lips, really.

Rodney laughed gently against his lips. “Looks like all of our important kisses happen in parking lots.” Neither of them had to say “first and last.”

“There’s some symmetry to it,” Pete said, returning the smile, albeit a watery version.

Rodney tried for his best grin, missing the mark a little. “Symmetry, yes - but not supersymmetry,” he said. Pete looked at him blankly. Rodney shrugged. “I guess that’s one good thing about going to Antarctica – people will get my physics jokes."

Pete looked at his watch. “It’s time,” he said.

Rodney nodded, then picked up his suitcase. With one more sweet kiss, he was gone.  
__

Pete showed up at Rick’s apartment about an hour later, and he actually managed a half-laugh when Rick gawked at the car.

“Why? What?” Rick spluttered. “Isn’t this Rodney’s car?”

“It’s mine now,” Pete said. “He gave it to me.”

Rick opened the door and threw his bag in the back, settling into the passenger seat. “You must be _fantastic_ in bed.” Pete simply smirked, no blush in evidence. “I mean, he gave you a _car_.”

Pete merely lifted his eyebrow and smiled a secretive smile.

Rick reached for the radio and found a station he liked. “All right, Killer,” he said, punching Pete lightly on the arm. “Let’s go home.”

~end


End file.
